The Phoenix Or The Flame
by GinnyRules
Summary: Several years after the final battle, Dudley Dursley is struggling to come to terms with his past and the things he has done wrong. His life is turned upside down when he meets a charming young witch and is drawn into a path that leads him back into his cousin's world.
1. Chapter 1

**FROM THE ASHES**

**Chapter One**

_A tall, hovering figure wearing a dark cloak was advancing on him, drawing in rasping breaths and reaching up to grasp him by the throat. He felt himself being slammed against the ground and tried to cry out for help, but no sound escaped his throat. Everything around him was growing cold and distant, as though he was losing consciousness. Suddenly, a voice rose in his head, harsh and petulant._

_"Look, it's Potty Potter!" the voice jeered, as laughter sounded behind it. "What happened to your glasses, Potter? Did you break them tripping over your big ugly feet?"_

_Suddenly, he recognized the voice. It was his voice, echoing words he had spoken years ago. The moment this realization came to him, he was surrounded by images to match the voice. He saw himself, standing at the center of a knot of yelling children and facing down a small boy with untidy black hair and glasses._

_Out of nowhere, he shoved the boy, causing him to fall to the ground. When the boy got up, he punched him unceremoniously in the face, breaking his glasses. The crowd of children laughed unkindly. The boy's eyes burned with anger and shame._

_The scene changed. He was now standing below a tall tree with a growling dog at his side, howling with mirth. The same green-eyed boy had climbed to the top of the tree and was throwing frantic glances to the dog below him._

_"You won't last long up there!" he shouted to the boy. "Soon you'll fall and break your skinny neck!"_

_The scene changed yet again, and now he was delivering swift kicks to a boy much smaller than himself, while his friend held the boy's arms behind his back. The boy was crying and sniveling._

_Another change. He was crying loudly, screaming abuse at his mother and throwing all his possessions around the room._

_Another change. He was holding a young boy's head in a toilet and jeering at him._

_Another change. He was stealing an entire sackful of candy from a store, shoving an elderly lady out of his way as he sprinted out the door._

_In the gathering gloom, the cloaked creature reached for its hood to draw it back and reveal its face._

Dudley Dursely awoke from his dream screaming at the top of his voice. His forehead was glistening with sweat, and his heart was racing. It had been nearly two years since he had come out of hiding and started his life anew, and still the same dream plagued him almost every night.

Sighing, Dudley reached across his pillow and turned on the lamp that stood on his bedside table, glancing at his alarm clock. It was four thirty in the morning. If the dream persisted, he was apt never to get a good night's sleep in his entire life.

There was a soft knock at his bedroom door and a whisper of, "Are you all right Popkin? What's wrong?"

Dudley groaned. It was bad enough to be twenty years old and still living in his parents' house. But did his mother have to come check on him at the slightest disturbance?

"I'm fine!" he called. Under his breath he added, "Go away."

The sound of Petunia Dursley's footsteps grew fainter as she returned to her room, and Dudley closed his eyes once more, breathing deeply.

Ever since that fateful evening in the summer after his fifteenth birthday, things had begun to change for him. It had happened at an impossibly slow, gradual pace, so that at first he did not even notice that anything was different. But as the months passed and his subconscious refused to let him forget what the cloaked figures had made him see, he had been forced to face facts. Because there was no denying the images that lingered in his head. Dudley had been haunted by these images into the early hours of the morning, unable to rid himself of the impression that there was something horribly wrong with him. Yes, the Dementoids, or whatever they were called, had put everything into perspective for him, all right.

But the dreams had not started until after Dedalus Biddle and Hestia James (or was it Hestia George? So many things he could not remember...) had gotten him and his family out of hiding, bringing news that Harry Potter had triumphed magnificently over the Dark Lord. Though this meant very little to him, Dudley wished he could have congratulated his cousin. He had not seen Harry since then.

It was after that day that Dudley began to sink into a depression that nothing, not his father's blustering speeches or his mother's incessant doting, could help. What Vernon and Petunia failed to grasp was that their son's problems were beyond inadequate meals or insufficient birthday gifts. They had no idea what was going through his mind.

As he had become increasingly withdrawn and brooding, Dudley had also lost a considerable amount of weight, so that his muscles now stood out clearly beneath his overlarge clothes. When he looked in the mirror, he no longer recognized himself. He was nothing like the person who appeared in his persistent dream. He hoped that counted for something.

The only truly enjoyable part of his life during that time had been boxing. Something about the sport took away his worries and replaced them with a sense of accomplishment. But then, almost six months ago, his short, albeit successful career as a boxer had ended when he had dislocated his shoulder during a match. After that Dudley had taken a position at his father's drill company, simply for want of anything better to do. Vernon Dursley had closed some important deals in the past few years, and his firm was now one of the foremost drill-making companies in the world. Somehow, this cheered Dudley very little.

These days Dudley traipsed through his days in the office with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, and at night took classes from a nearby school over the computer to attempt to complete his education, which had been cut short by his going into hiding. The classes he found excruciatingly difficult. He had never been a really intelligent person: he knew and accepted that, now. But he hoped that by earning an education, he could make something of himself that somewhat atoned for his past misdeeds. Maybe that counted for something, too.

The alarm clock on the bedside table now said that it was five in the morning. Resigned to the fact that he would not get any more sleep, Dudley got up and dressed in silence, weary of waking his mother again. He then descended the stairs into the immaculate kitchen and poured himself a bowl of cereal, grimacing as he read the words "Low In Sugar" on the front of the box.

An hour later, having packed and repacked his briefcase four times, Dudley decided that there was really nothing to do but go to work. He normally drove to the Grunnings office in the morning with his father, but the latter had yet to come downstairs. When Dudley walked outside and entered his car, the sun was just beginning to rise. He fiddled with the radio, looking for a song that did not make him feel that his life was a failure. After searching through the entire FM dial in vain, he became frustrated and banged on the radio with his fist.

Something odd happened then. The radio emitted a sort of high-pitched whistle, and suddenly a song completely unknown to Dudley began to play. It was unlike anything he had ever heard; the music was punctuated by the sounds of strange and probably foreign instruments.

"... Oh come and stir my cauldron... And if you do it right... I'll brew you up some hot strong love... To keep you warm tonight..."

Now why on earth would someone be singing about cauldrons on the morning radio? Dudley had a vague impression that a cauldron was a sort of pot, which did not make sense in the slightest. He must be going out of his mind.

When Dudley drove his car into his usual spot in front of the office, the rest of the lot was deserted- no, almost deserted, with the exception of one other vehicle parked at the far end, in a spot reserved for company executives. And yet Dudley knew for a fact that none of the executives were driving around in a violet 1931 De Soto with a hood ornament that looked suspiciously like the needle from an antique record player. This joker was likely going to return to find his car towed away, and good riddance.

Only one other person had arrived in the office earlier than Dudley. Mark Jenkins, a mousy old man with a shining bald patch, was sitting at his desk with a steaming mug of coffee, already typing up some sort of pretentious report. Dudley gave him a halfhearted wave and hurried to his cubicle. He did not care for Jenkins: the man had twice reported him to their supervisor for coming in to work late. Dudley had almost punched him out cold the second time. It had taken all his self control simply to apologize for being late and go about his day as usual. The part of his life in which he settled his problems with his fists was over, now.

Sitting down at his desk, Dudley considered calling a friend for an early morning chat. After all, it was far too early to start doing any work, really. Then he remembered that he no longer had any friends. That part of his life had also been forfeited when the dream started to haunt him.

For one brief, shining moment, Dudley considered marching into the office at the end of the hall and declaring his resignation to Mr. Hall, his supervisor. But then he pictured the look that would appear on his father's face if he ever did such a thing, and immediately thought better of it. He shook his head, glancing wistfully at the office door nonetheless. And that was when he saw her.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered, leaning around the side of his cubicle to get a better view of the office down the hall. Its door was ajar, and through the gap Dudley could distinctly see a young woman pacing back and forth and pointing a narrow wooden meter-stick at an eagle feather, which was racing back and forth of its own accord on a desk.

"What the hell?" Dudley muttered again, shrugging. "Why not?"

He crept across the hallway and placed himself directly behind the door, so that he could observe the young woman without being seen. She had long, lustrous dark hair and was wearing a rather eccentric combination of pinstriped trousers and a lime green parka. Yet somehow, she still looked quite lovely.

Secondary to this, Dudley also noticed that what he had at first mistaken for a meter-stick was in fact a rounded piece of wood that looked incredibly familiar. After a few seconds of thought, Dudley realized that Harry had carried an identical piece of wood in his pocket for years, claiming that it was his magic wand. Could this girl possibly be one of that lot?  
The wand she was waving appeared to be causing the eagle feather to write words on a yellowed sheet of paper. There was no other explanation, then. It must be magic.

Dudley's first instinct was to run away as fast as his legs would carry him. Unconsciously, his hands moved to cover his lower back where a curly pig's tail had once sprouted, humiliating and unnatural. But the girl was very pretty and there was absolutely nothing threatening about her. She was humming to herself, and after a few seconds Dudley realized that she was singing the song he had heard on the radio while driving to work.

How had his day taken such a bizarre turn so early on?

Without pausing to think, Dudley pushed open the door and did his best to look surprised at finding the office occupied. When he thought back to that moment in the days to come, he reflected that, had he stopped to reconsider his decision, he would probably have turned around and gone back to his own desk. Sometimes, acting on impulse could still be a good thing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said humbly, turning to leave.

"No, please, it's not a problem!" the girl replied with a smile. Watching her smile was like watching dawn break across the sky. Dudley realized that he had temporarily lost his voice. "You don't have to leave," she went on. "I didn't realize that anyone would be here so early, I don't mean to disturb you."

But out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw her hastily stuff her wand-if that was what it was-and eagle feather quill into a bag. The unfinished page remained on the desk. Dudley tried to read its headline upside down, and thought it said: "Department of Muggle Liaison Research Unit: Assessing the Self-Fulfillment of Employees In Technomology Based Companies."

Good heavens, what was that supposed to mean?

"I was just looking for... a pencil," Dudley invented to excuse his entry into the office, glad that he was once more able to speak.

"Well as long as you're here, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?" the girl said. "My name is Parvati Patil. I've been sent in by the bureau of, er... human resources, to investigate the job satisfaction in this office."

"I- Yes, that would be fine," Dudley replied, somewhat lamely. His brain felt as though it had jammed up, the gears working improperly, the springs bent sideways. Shouldn't he be trying to escape this place? All evidence pointed to this Parvati Patil being a witch.

But was he sure that that was such a bad thing anymore?

"Excellent," said Parvati. "Let's begin. How often would you say that you handle eclectronic devices in the context of your job?"

"I think you mean 'electronic'," Dudley mumbled, unsure whether he should laugh or bolt out of the office while he still had the time. "I s'pose I use electronic devices every day."

Parvati flashed him another blinding smile. "Really?" she asked, sounding almost surprised. "Fascinating. And would you say that employing these devices brings you self-fulfillment?"

Most of the rest of the question were in a similar vein, and it was all Dudley could do to come up with coherent answers as Parvati questioned him. Her voice made him feel a little giddy, and also a little reckless. He still had no idea what he was even doing speaking to her, but leaving was now out of the question.

"Well, I think that's about all," she said after about fifteen minutes. "Oh! Of course, I forgot to ask your name! I have to check it against the roster of employees."

"Dudley Dursley," Dudley muttered, trying to think of a way to draw out the conversation so that he could spend more time with her. "My father owns this company."

Parvati suddenly gaped at him, surprise and something a little less easily definable in her expression. Could it possibly be awe? Surely being the manager's son was not as impressive as all that.

"Did you say Dudley Dursley?" she exclaimed.

"Er, yeah. It's not a very common name, is it?"

"No, it's not that, it's just- Are you by any chance related to someone named Harry Potter?"

It was Dudley's turn to gape, taken completely by surprise. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he replied, "Yeah, I am, actually. How could you know that?"

"I know him!" Parvati cried excitedly. "I haven't seen him in almost two years, but I used to know him really well! He spoke about you, I remember."

"He mentioned me?" Dudley asked, more shocked than ever.

"Just in passing. This is incredible, of all the people for me to interview my first day on the job... But- hang on! Do you... know?"

"I do know that you're a... witch, yes," said Dudley. It was difficult to force out the word without cringing, but he managed it reasonably well.

Parvati smiled again, and looked intently at Dudley, seeming to really see him for the first time. A strange gleam came into her eye.

"Would you like to go with me to get a cup of coffee?" she asked. "I know it's early, but-"

"I'd love to," Dudley told her. The words were barely out of his mouth that he regretted them. But when he really contemplated it, the prospect of going to get a coffee with Parvati was rather... nice. He had never felt quite so strangely about someone before. It was enough to make him wonder whether he was falling ill.

So Dudley Dursley left his office with a beautiful young woman who was also a witch, knowing full well that she could turn him into a frog at any moment, and that he had surely taken leave of his senses. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt fully alive.

"I've always wanted to work as a reporter for the Daily Prophet," Parvati told Dudley as they sat in a small coffee shop near the Grunnings office, cradling steaming mugs of coffee in their hands. "But there were no available positions when I left Hogwarts, so I ended up at the Ministry instead. It's not so bad, really. I just wish I could get some more interesting assignments every once in a while."

Dudley nodded, hoping this weak response would suffice. He had no idea what Parvati was going on and on about. It didn't matter, because he felt he could listen to her talk for hours on end without losing interest.

"I'm the one doing all the talking, here," Parvati complained. "What's your life like? Do you ever wish you could do magic? I've always wanted to ask that to someone who could tell me what it was like to live without any magic at all. But of course I could never ask a squib, it would be much too rude."

"What's squib?" Dudley asked, trying to feign interest in a subject he understood absolutely nothing about.

"A squib is someone from a Wizarding family who can't do magic, of course," Parvati said.

Dudley gave her a blank look.

"You see, there are plenty of pure blood wizards who don't have any magic at all," continued Parvati, who was clearly under the impression that she was providing a clear and helpful explanation. "It's essentially the opposite of a Muggle-born witch or wizard." When Dudley continued to stare at her in confusion, she said, "Didn't Harry ever explain to you about the differences between pure bloods and Muggle-borns and squibs and all that?"

"I guess I didn't speak to him that much," Dudley admitted, looking down.

"Ooh, were you jealous of him?" said Parvati, unabashed by her direct question. "Didn't he want to tell you about any of it?"

"Not exactly," Dudley stammered, before subsiding into embarrassed silence. In truth, he had taken many of his cousin's old abandoned school books and hidden them under a floorboard in his room, a secret he guarded from his parents with extreme caution. He could only imagine their reaction if they found out that he had kept items related to magic all this time rather than throwing them in the rubbish bin as they had asked. But he had not read any of the books, only stowed them in his room for safekeeping, for reasons he could not quite explain to himself. So he had no more notion of the magical world than ever.

"I guess I didn't like magic much," Dudley finally told her, still looking down at his hands. He couldn't understand how she managed to pry these confessions from him, seemingly without effort. It was almost mesmerizing.

"But you're here with me," said Parvati. It was a statement, not a question. So Dudley nodded.

"You're a little odd," Parvati said in a low voice. "But that's what makes you so charming, I think."

"You... think I'm charming?" said Dudley quietly. Nobody had ever applied that word to him before. He didn't quite know what she meant by it.

"Yes, I do," she replied simply.

There was a pause-not awkward but peaceful-in which Dudley became aware that he had actually reached across the small coffee shop table and taken Parvati's hand in his. Their fingers wound together, fitting comfortably. Parvati did not look at all put off. Instead, a small grin was playing on her lips, leaving Dudley feeling winded.

When he'd gone to school, he'd had a large group of devoted friends, or perhaps followers might have been a better word. But none of them had been girls. Girls in those days laughed at his behind their hands and ran away from his glances. So Dudley had absolutely no experience with this sort of thing.

"Would you like to walk me to my car?" Parvati asked softly. "I do still have a lot of work to do, and I left one of my Quick-Quotes-Quills in the glove compartment."

Dudley nodded. His mouth was very dry.

They walked together to the car lot in the rising morning light. A dozen or so more vehicles had arrived in their absence, but the De Soto was still the most conspicuous by far. It was no real surprise to Dudley when Parvati made right for the violet car. She was a witch, after all.

The two of them entered the car on either side, so that Dudley was sitting in front of the steering wheel and Parvati was facing the glove compartment. Before she could begin her search, however, there was a loud pop, and another young woman appeared in the back seat. It was as if she had materialized out of thin air. Dudley wondered where she could possibly have been hiding, to take them so by surprise. The interior of the automobile was not exactly vast enough to allow for many hiding places.

"Morning!" the strange girl called brightly. Then, catching sight of Dudley, her eyes grew round and she turned to stare at Parvati in reproach. "You should have warned me you would be doing interviews in your car. Do you think he-"

"No, don't worry," Parvati assured her. "This is Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter's famous cousin. He's a... friend of mine."

"Ooh!" exclaimed the new girl with interest. She and Parvati exchanged a meaningful glance and giggled, leaving Dudley feeling thoroughly confused.

"I'm sorry, Dudley," Parvati added for his benefit. "This is my friend Lavender Brown. She works for the Ministry as well. I forgot that I'd asked her to meet me here. I hope we didn't scare you, but you see it's not usually permitted to Apparate out in the open."

"So he knows everything?" asked Lavender Brown.

Parvati shrugged. "More or less. Are you all right, Dudley?"

Magicians with moving feathers and girls who jumped out of nowhere in ugly antique cars... How could he be all right?

"Where did you come from just now?" he asked Lavender, hoping that it wasn't a rude question. He could not think of anything else to say.

"Well I was just in Wales," Lavender told him matter-of-factly. "I was working with a celluliar phone company. But I needed to ask Parvati here a question, so I thought I'd pop by."

"How did you get here from Wales so fast?" Dudley asked stupidly.

Lavender looked taken aback, but Parvati made a small gesture with her hand, as if to indicate that she should not ask questions. Lavender shrugged and turned to speak only to her friend.

"Have you heard the news, then?" she asked.

"No, what news?" demanded Parvati, her interest immediately piqued by the possibility of gossip.

"That's what I came here to tell you. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley are getting married!"

"Oh really?" Parvati squealed. "Well of course it was going to happen sooner or later. And did you know that I heard Hermione Granger is also getting married to Ron Wea-"

But she stopped abruptly, and Lavender scowled.

"I'm sorry," Parvati muttered.

"It's fine. You know, I've been seeing Seamus for a few weeks now."

The rest of the conversation was lost on Dudley, as it consisted mostly of squealing and giggles. He continued to ponder the question of how someone could possibly get to the center of London from Wales in such a short time. Had Lavender done it by magic?

That night, Dudley went home with Parvati's words echoing in his head. "I'll be coming back to this office all week," she had promised. "We'll see each other again." In spite of everything- of her magic wand and her ugly car and her giggling friend, and the inescapable fact that she was a witch- Dudley fervently hoped that she would come back.

"Did you have a nice day, Diddykins?" Petunia asked when Dudley walked through the front door.

"Yes, it was magical," Dudley muttered, smiling in spite of himself. What a clever thing to say...

For possibly the first time in his life, Dudley refused dinner and locked himself in his room, where he dug out the pile of dusty books residing under his floorboards. The titles jumped viciously out at him. One Thousand Magical Herbs And Fungi... The Standard Book Of Spells: Grade Six... Flying With The Cannons...

Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he would wake up in his bed in a few hours, and the madness would have passed. He would go on with the sad remains of his life without interference from any hocus-pocus nonsense.

One could always hope.

But in the meantime, if he was ever to carry on a normal conversation with Parvati Patil, he would have to learn a little more about her world. Dudley shuddered.

When he did finally go to sleep some time later, his head filled with disturbing, nonsensical terms he had painstakingly read in the terrifying books, something remarkable happened. Something he had given up hope on many many months ago.

He was haunted by no nightmares. He did not wake up screaming. He had no dreams at all.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews I've received so far. I realize that in the previous chapter Dudley, as a Muggle, should not have been able to actually see a Dementor in his dream. However I am attributing this to Harry's briefly explaining what Dementors are in OotP (or creative license, if you like...) Enjoy!

**CHAPTER TWO**

Petunia Dursely placed a plate of sizzling bacon and eggs on the breakfast table in front of her son. Dudley ate a few small bites avidly but stopped himself, sighing. He did not miss the look of concern his mother shot in his direction as he pushed the plate away, nor the disconcerted glower his father gave him above the newspaper he was reading.

Dudley downed his glass of orange juice in one gulp.

"All right, that's enough!" thundered Vernon, banging his fist on the hardwood table and upsetting the salt shaker. "What the bloody hell is the matter with you, son? Out with it!"

"Nothing," Dudley muttered as he looked down at his hands. Something about his parents' constant forceful, misguided concern always seemed to make his will crumble to dust.

Vernon threw his arms up into the air in a gesture of semi-maniacal disbelief. "Rubbish! This is the second morning you've been quietly brooding away and all that nonsense in the middle of mealtime. It's not natural!"

Dudley frowned, still staring determinedly at his hands, but made no reply. He could not deny his father's accusations. He had indeed been uncommonly silent and thoughtful for the past few days. This was in large part due to his thinking about her; Parvati had not been back to his office building as promised, and somehow, this made Dudley feel depressed- even more so than usual. He simply could not get Parvati Patil out of his head. But the other, equally puzzling reason, was one he could hardly consider sharing with his family.

Still, it looked as though he might have no choice.

"Now Diddy, you can tell us, dear," pleaded Petunia in a sickeningly sweet, distressed voice. "Go ahead, don't be afraid. Have you been having any more of those bad dreams?"

"No, mum!" exclaimed and embarrassed Dudley in exasperation. The dreams had vanished entirely. He did not think he had ever been more grateful for anything in his life.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Popkin," Petunia insisted.

"No," Dudley cried firmly. "It's not that, all right! It's-nothing. Just..." He took a deep breath. "I heard that... Harry... Potter... gettingmarriedsoon."

The reaction to his words was predictable. If he had not been so irritated, Dudley would have burst out laughing. His mother uttered a small scream and accidentally turned the knob on the stove top so high that frighteningly tall blue flames leaped and licked hungrily at the cabinets. His father's meaty hands suddenly clenched together, tearing his newspaper down the middle, and he began to breathe excessively loudly through his nose like a sumo wrestler. Harry Potter's name had not been mentioned by any of them in almost two years.

Dudley resumed gazing at his hands, regretting his inability to keep his mouth shut. He could tell that an explosion of anger was imminent.

"And how," Vernon demanded, carefully detaching every word so that Dudley could see the spittle coming out of his mouth as he spoke, "exactly, did you come by this information?"

"People... talking..." Dudley did his utmost to look anywhere but at his father, a feat made more difficult by the fact that the latter's face had turned an alarming shade of burgundy.

The silence in the room mounted threateningly. Dudley tried to count to a hundred in his head to calm himself down, became confused, lost count, and settled for watching the clock on the wall. After two whole minutes passed, he could stand it no longer, and said, "Mum, the bacon is on fire."

Petunia jumped, seemed to come out of a trance, and hurriedly turned off the stove top. Vernon visibly shook himself and folded up his torn newspaper.

"Well," Vernon spluttered, trying to regain his composure. "Well... so then-Well, that's that."

To Dudley's astonishment, both of his parents seemed to simultaneously decide to ignore his hideous breach of Dursley etiquette, and to pretend that nothing had happened. After the initial shock had passed, they recovered themselves remarkably well. At first Dudley was grateful for the reprieve, but then he began to feel something akin to resentment. Didn't they have any interest, then, in the things that were so upsetting him?

Of course, he knew better than to complain.

At first, in light of the absurd situation he had gotten himself involved in, Dudley had not really registered the fact that Parvati's friend (Was her name Violet? Or Lavender? What kinds of ridiculous names did these people given their children?) actually thought Harry was getting married. Then, when the thought came back to him later, he was sure that she must have been lying. If Harry were about to get married, wouldn't he, Dudley, know about it? Then he realized that he had not been in contact with Harry for years and that, moreover, he had never troubled to find out what his cousin was up to even when they were children and did live in the same house.

So his cousin was engaged to a girl called Jinny Weasel, or something like that. Really, how did that lot come up with such names? Now, Dudley would never have expected to receive an invitation by any stretch of the imagination, but the thought of the impending wedding stirred a certain feeling of melancholy in him.

He did not possess sufficient introspective abilities to understand that the feeling was in fact envy.

Why couldn't he meet a nice girl and have a life with her? Someone sweet and understanding. Someone special. Someone like Parvati Patil.

But that was crazy. He hardly knew her. And more to the point, she was a witch. He was in desperate need of a distraction.

Without warning, Dudley stood up and left the kitchen table. For once, both his mother and father were too preoccupied by their own thoughts to ask what he was doing. Five minutes later, Dudley was sitting at his desk in his room, staring at his computer screen.

His fingers moved across the keyboard, typing out Parvati's name, while his mind wandered as if in a dream. Maybe, if he could just see her face one more time, he would be able to move on with his life.

The first few results to come up when he entered the name into the search bar were for movie starlets or young singers. At the bottom of the second page, Dudley found what he was looking for; a simple, plain site bearing a short message about Parvati's position at a company involved in "human resources." Dudley wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, confused. He had thought that her identity as a normal person with a regular job was only a facade. But how could someone from her lot operate a computer and create even as inexpert an internet site as this one? Something did not add up.

At the top of the page, Dudley was further surprised to see a list of contact information which would supposedly allow him to reach Parvati. There was even a phone number. Did her lot even own phones? Did it matter? Surely he could never summon up the courage to attempt to contact a witch. There was no telling what might happen.

In that instant, the sun began to rise in earnest, and Dudley caught sight of its ascent through his window. Something in the way it lit up the sky made Dudley turn back to gaze at the phone number again. He was suddenly acutely conscious that this was yet another morning which he had not entered into with the memory of a nightmare looming in his mind. The change was due to Parvati. There was no denying that fact.

Before he could lose his nerve, Dudley seized the phone from his dresser and dialed the number at the top of his computer screen. It rang four times before a polite female voice-most definitely not Parvati's-answered.

"Hello, this is the, er, company of eclectical studies office," said the voice. "How may I direct your call?"

"I'm... looking for... Miss Parvati Patil," Dudley managed to stammer, unsure what he had gotten himself into.

"Miss Patil is unavailable at the moment. May I take a message for her?"

Dudley thought furiously before answering. His head was beginning to hurt already. "Yeah. Could you, er, say that Dudley Dursley from Grunnings called to... see if she might be visiting again? This is Dudley Dursley. From Grunnings," he finished lamely.

The voice at the other end of the line changed, becoming warmer. "Oh, Mr. Dursley! I have a note here from Miss Patil. She instructed me to remind her to contact you when she returns from her trip to Edinburgh. There was some trouble, you see, and she had to leave on short notice. Would you like me to give you her alternate office number? She may have returned by now."

Dudley said nothing. He could not bring himself to speak. He was getting cold feet alarmingly quickly. But the woman on the phone did not seem discouraged. After asking if he had a pen and a piece of parchment (Dudley frowned at this, sure he had misheard her), she rattled off the new number which Dudley was supposed to take down. He nearly fell over himself in his haste to find a pen, sure he would be unable to remember the number for more than ten seconds. Unable to locate anything with which to write the number, Dudley had no choice but to offer the woman a hasty thanks, hang up, and dial the new number at once.

This time the phone rang seven times, and Dudley was on the verge of hanging up when he heard another voice, this time belonging to a man who sounded rather bored.

"Ministry of Magic service telephone," said the voice. "This is Ernie speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"P-Parvati Patil?" was all Dudley could say.

"Department?" barked Ernie.

"Er..."

Ernie sighed in exasperation. Apparently, patience was not a virtue this lot held in particularly high esteem. "What does Patil do here?"

Dudley had no idea what Ministry of Magic Departments were, let alone what part Parvati might play within them. He took a deep breath and muttered, "Electricity. Mud-er... Muggles."

"Muggle liaison, eh? Right, I'll put you through. Please hold."

Dudley fiddled with a fold in his sweater as he waited. Finally, yet another unknown female voice spoke up.

"This is Magical Creatures. How can I help you?"

"M-magical what?" Dudley repeated, again unsure whether he had heard correctly. Images of monsters with sharp teeth and furry faces immediately cropped up in his mind's eye.

The woman on the phone sounded confused. "Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, yes. This is Hermione Granger, assistant to the head of the Goblin liaison office. Can I do anything for you?"

Dudley's hands were numb as they clutched at the phone. His efforts to reach Parvati were beginning to seem entirely foolish and pointless. He could do nothing but stammer and splutter, struggling to decide whether he should just hurl his phone at the wall and go to work in a black fury, or plough on with his attempt.

"Can I have your name, sir?" asked Hermione Granger kindly.

"Dudley Dursley."

There was a short silence, then a sharp intake of breath. Hermione Granger's voice came back hard and careful.

"Did you say Dudley Dursley?"

Dudley nodded, realized that this would do no good, and said, "Yes."

"Dudley Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive?"

"Number Fifteen-I mean, Sixteen." The Dursleys were still rather sore about the fact that they had been unable to secure their old residence after coming out of hiding years previously. Still, Dudley reflected, living just down the street from his childhood home was not so bad.

"I see," said Hermione Granger. Her tone was reserved, but not quite unfriendly. Had his thoughts not been otherwise engaged, Dudley might have expected what came next. "You're Harry Potter's cousin, aren't you?"

It did not occur to Dudley, in his confusion, to lie.

"Yes," he replied. "Yeah, I- Harry Potter. My cousin."

"How did you get this number?"

"From... Parvati Patil."

"Really?" she sounded shocked. Dudley had already half forgotten her name. Was it Harmony Gellar? "Well, Ernie must have connected you to Magical Creatures by accident. You want Muggle liaison. But Parvati isn't back from Edinburgh yet."

Dudley was at a loss for words.

"Do you mind me asking why you're trying to speak with Parvati?" she asked. "I don't meant to be rude, but I had heard that you weren't exactly fond of our lot."

Good God, how did she know the words that were in his head? Another witch, for certain.

When Dudley failed to answer once again, Hermione said, "He was worried about you, you know. Harry. He seemed to think you were headed for a mental breakdown. He even tried to have his friend Kreacher keep track of you, although I warned him that would never work. He said you seemed to regret the things you put him through. Perhaps he was right."

"Could you, er, just please, if you can, let, er, Parvati know that... I called?"

"Of course," Harmony told him, sounding distracted. "I will. Have a nice day, Dudley."

She hung up. Dudley slumped back in his chair, flabbergasted. He was not sure exactly how long he sat staring at his computer screen before he heard the doorbell ring. He trudged downstairs for lack of anything better to do, and relieved his father of the duty of answering the door. When he opened it himself, Dudley came face to face with a young woman with extremely bushy brown hair and kind hazel eyes. She was smiling uncertainly at him.

"Hello," she said. "We spoke on the phone? I'm Hermione Granger."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: A huge thanks, again, for the wonderful reviews that have come in. I'm having a lot of fun with this story and I can promise that the next chapter will be quite a bit more action-centric. In the meantime, enjoy!

**CHAPTER THREE**

Hermione Granger, it transpired, was much less of a freak than Dudley had anticipated.

Knowing that she was a friend of his cousin's a one of that lot, what Dudley had expected was a pointed hat and a green face short of the villainess from The Wizard Of Oz. Instead, Hermione-whose name he had finally gotten fixed in his mind-was disarmingly normal and soberly dressed in bluejeans and a white sweater.

Of course, that was only on the surface. Having spoken to her on the phone about "magical creatures" (the mere thought caused him to shudder), Dudley knew beyond a doubt that she was a witch.

And she had invited herself right into his house.

"Good morning, Mr. Dursley," she had called across the room, letting herself in and closing the door behind her. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm a friend of Dudley's from elementary school. I had not seen him in ever so long, and I was paying my father a visit in town-he owns a company that sells cars, mostly Mercedes-and decided to look him up. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

Dudley had not had it in him to protest. He had been too busy wondering how Hermione had known that the way to gain his father's approval was to speak of expensive cars. For his part, Vernon seemed both too preoccupied with readying himself for work and too shaken from Dudley's recent mention of Harry to take notice of the early time of day or Hermione's rather unruly hair.

Now they were in the sitting room. Dudley was pretending to be preparing his things for the work day in order to keep up appearances, and Hermione was speaking in a rapid, quiet voice.

"I know it must be quite a shock to have me come here unannounced, but I had to discuss something with you, and I thought it would be best to be direct. Your cousin is one of my best friends. He's nearly done his job training, he's getting married very soon, and his birthday is coming up. As much as he would hate to admit it, I'm sure it would mean a lot to him to have you be a part of his life at this point. You're one of the only blood relatives he has left. All I'm asking is that you consider attending the wedding, at least. I would make it my personal responsibility to make sure you were comfortable there."

Dudley frowned. If this Hermione thought he was going to go bond with Harry and a whole lot of freaks in some haunted castle or graveyard, she had another thing coming.

Hermione grinned, almost as though she could read his thoughts.

"Would you like to be able to start boxing again, Dudley?" she asked, a knowing look in her eye.

Dudley's heartbeat sped up at once. Of course, there was nothing he wanted more. Without understanding why, he suddenly felt as though he were making a bargain with the Devil over the state of his soul.

"I s'pose," he replied cautiously.

Hermione's smile was triumphant. "Well, then I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement. Do you remember that day five years ago when your tongue swelled up from eating a sweet the Weasley twins dropped, right here in this room? And do you remember how easily their father was able to put you right?"

Dudley nodded slowly, wondering where she was going with this.

"You see, Dudley," Hermione continued, "my lot can fix more than just incidents caused by trick sweets. Someone like me could, for example, repair the damage done to, say, a dislocated shoulder, in a way regular doctors can't. All I ask in return would be for you to go to Harry's wedding."

"You're going to give me a bribe?" asked Dudley incredulously.

Hermione shrugged. "If you want to look at it that way. I think that in the end you could learn a lot about yourself and Harry. It could be a really good thing for you. But I suppose on the face of it, it is bribery."

After a long moment of silence, Dudley said, "Is the wedding at that... freak school?"

"Of course not." Hermione shook her head with some humor. "It's at Harry's house. He lives in a small town called Godric's Hollow, not too far from London."

"Will Parvati be there?"

"Yes," Hermione told him. Something about her expression made Dudley suspect that she was hiding something from him.

Dudley hesitated.

"I'll prepare you for it," Hermione promised. "And I'll make sure you're not bothered by any freaks."

Parvati, and boxing again... Dudley could not resist. He had no reason to trust this strange woman who had simply walked into his life without explanation, but he could not stand to turn down her offer. Dudley held out his hand, and Hermione shook it solemnly, a small, mischievous smile still playing on her lips.

* * *

"Honestly, Parvati, what is it about this bloke?" cried Lavender, not for the first time. She set down her bottle of Butterbeer with undue force and glared at her friend.

Parvati shook her head and sighed. "I don't know what you mean."

"You never stop talking about him! It's driving me mad. I haven't seen you like this since-" but Lavender stopped short and hurriedly picked up her Butterbeer again, taking an overlarge gulp.

The two young women were seated at a booth in the cramped room of the Pumpkin Seed, a popular new coffee shop in Hogsmead where they often met after a hard day at work. Parvati was playing with her food, but had hardly eaten a bite.

"Since before," Parvati finished the sentence, hitching an artificial smile on her face.

"I'm sorry," Lavender muttered.

"That's all right. Really, don't worry about it. It's about time I moved on with my life." Parvati hesitated before continuing. "It's just that... I haven't felt this way since-since it happened. I don't know what it is about him, but he just makes me feel whole again. And I've only met him once! For Merlin's sake, he's so odd, and he's thicker than a flobberworm. But I can see how there's much more to him than meets the eye. He's... special."

"But, you know," said Lavender cautiously, "you have sometimes sort of... made more of these things than there really was."

"Hark who's talking!" Parvati accused jokingly, throwing a piece of cauldron cake at Lavender.

"Oh, shut it." Lavender giggled. "Well, in any case, I believe you. I'm happy you've found him."

Parvati's face darkened. "If he'll still speak to me after I disappeared off the face of the planet."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic! It was necessary. This is some serious business." Lavender's hand rose, unconsciously, to the twisted scar running the length of her neck and shoulder.

"I know," Parvati told her, "And it was a great reporting opportunity for me. But don't worry, the Aurors will sort it all out. You know they will."

"Of course," Lavender laughed. Then her expression suddenly changed, and she squealed. "I can't wait for your wedding! You should honeymoon in Paris. That's where everyone is going these days. Ooh, and you could visit Beauxbatons-"

"Please!" Parvati exclaimed. "I'm not getting married to Dudley Dursley. We've only had one conversation!"

"I could sense something between you two," Lavender insisted with a superior air.

"Could I have another Butterbeer, please?" Parvati called loudly to a waitress, suppressing a laugh.

When the bottle arrived, Parvati set it down atop a copy of the Daily Prophet laying on the table, partially obscuring the front page headline.

_... And Notorious Death Eater, Escapes From Azkaban._

* * *

_The movement of the wrist is crucial to the success of the incantation. A swish is followed by a rapid flick while the spell is spoken:_"Wingardium Leviosa."

Dudley snapped _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_shut and rubbed his eyes wearily. His head had been nothing but a tempest of doubt and apprehension in the twenty-four hours since Hermione Granger's unsolicited visit to his home. At times he thought he had simply gone round the bend. At others he experienced a sort of unsettling clarity wherein the unknown path ahead of him seemed rather exciting.

Mostly, though, he felt queasy with fear.

"Morning, Dursley," called a snappy voice, and Dudley looked up in time to see Jenkins stride past his desk, his beady eyes gleaming with dislike.

Well, thought Dudley as he urged himself to remain calm, it wasn't as though he was actually doing anything wrong. There was no rule that said specifically that employees could not arrive at the office three hours early to avoid their family's queries while they read books about magic spells. It did not occur to Dudley in his distress to wonder why Jenkins himself was at work at such an ungodly hour.

"Now, what would a fine young businessman such as yourself be doing skulking in his office at a time like this?"

Dudley's first thought was that apparently no one in the world placed any value in getting a good night's sleep anymore.

His second thought, which ran through his head even as he jumped up in surprise and turned around fast enough to upset his computer screen, was that the beautiful voice that had just interrupted his thoughts was oddly familiar. Sure enough, there stood Parvati Patil, dressed in what appeared to be a lime green lab coat and some horrendously outdated blue jeans, with a clipboard in her hands.

As Dudley's thoughts caught up with him and he realized that his jaw was hanging open, it occurred to him that he was expected to give an answer. Desperate for something clever and funny to say, Dudley stammered, "I was just reading up on your Muggle Legion Office and some spells to make wrists fly. I mean-"

"You mean Muggle _Liaison_, I think" Parvati cut across him, laughing. "And I'd like to see a spell like that some time."

Dudley's face burned. Under cover of her renewed laughter, he attempted to straighten his computer screen. Instead he managed to send his keyboard toppling to the ground.

"Here, let me help you," Parvati said, still chortling. She reached into her pocket, took out the wand-object again, and waved it discreetly, casting a careful look around to see if anyone was watching. Both the monitor and the keyboard soared back into place, as good as new.

Dudley gaped at her, torn between terror and grudging admiration.

"I wanted to apologize for disappearing for so long after I promised to get in touch with you." Parvati smiled ruefully at Dudley's expression, but apparently chose to act as though she had not just performed magic right in front of him. "There's been an increase in dark wizard activity lately, and all Ministry workers were called to an urgent conference on the matter earlier this week. It was very important for me to attend. My secretary told me that you tried to telephone my office. Was there anything you needed to talk to me about?"

Cursing his misguided attempts to communicate with wizards over the telephone, Dudley racked his brains to come up with an answer that did not sound idiotic or creepy.

"I was, er, wondering," he began, finding it difficult to focus while Parvati stared directly into his eyes, "if you could- If you had any suggestions for, er- You see, I'm going to my cousin Harry's wedding in a month, and- Well I don't know what to get him as, er, as a gift."

This, Dudley belatedly decided, was the worst excuse anyone in history had ever come up with. Parvati, however, seemed intrigued, and her face broke into a smile. She had a glorious smile- No, Dudley mentally admonished himself, he should not think that way about a witch.

"Why don't I take you shopping in Diagon Alley on your lunch break?" Parvati said. "Oh I don't suppose you'll know about Diagon Alley." She laughed and placed her hand on his arm.

To hell with it, Dudley decided. He would think about her as much as he pleased. Suddenly he realized that Parvati was looking at him with her head tilted, seeming to expect something. Had she asked him a question? Something about shopping in a crooked alley? That did not bode well by any means.

"Yes," Dudley blurted, at least a full minute too late. "I'd like that."

Parvati beamed at him. "Good! I mean, that's really- I'll meet you here at quarter past twelve."

She leaned forward, and _without any warning whatsoever_, gave him a brief kiss, then walked away. Dudley's thoughts did not slow to a snail's pace this time; they screeched to a complete stop as if they had collided with a solid brick wall. He was still standing in the exact same position when, thirty-seven minutes later, his boss walked in and gave him an incredulous look. When his boss called him in to his office, Dudley went without even realizing what he was doing. When he heard the words "promotion" and "congratulations," he nodded absently and asked to return to his desk, where he was greeted with a venomous glare from Jenkins. Once seated, Dudley reopened _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ and began to read once again where he had left off.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Dudley had never in his life witnessed such a display of insanity as greeted his eyes when first he stepped into Diagon Alley. First he and Parvati had passed through a pub that he was sure he had never noticed before, though he passed through this part of London often. Then there had been a nightmarish episode in which Parvati tapped her _wand_-simply thinking of that word still made his skin crawl-against a brick wall behind the pub, and caused a passageway to simply materialize in front of them. Presently Dudley's eyes bulged out of his head as he observed owls hooting and flapping their wings to general disinterest, fireworks being launched from shop windows, and men and women dressed shamelessly in attire that would barely pass as appropriate at a Halloween party.

"I don't think I can do this," Dudley muttered, turning on his heel and beginning to scurry back to the dodgy pub.

Parvati placed her hand on his arm-a motion that sent goosebumps down his spine and reminded him of the kiss she had surprised him with earlier-and cried, "Wait! Come back!"

Dudley sighed. "All those freaky costumes and birds. It's not- I don't think... It isn't for me."

"No one here will hurt you," Parvati insisted. "Just think of it as a game. You know, like those comp-pewter games Muggles have. I've read about them. It's just a challenge in an _electronic _game."

She smiled, clearly proud of herself for having finally learned the proper pronunciation of the word "electronic." Dudley could not help responding to that smile, and so he faced the brick archway leading into Diagon Alley once more and crossed it.

"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" said Parvati encouragingly. Dudley gulped.

They walked together along the winding cobbled path between brightly lit shops for some time, with Parvati commenting on cleaning implements that could fly and all sorts of nonsense, and with Dudley concentrating with all his might on breathing steadily and averting his eyes from all passers-by. At length they came to a shop that looked more daunting than all the rest put together. A colorful banner hung above the front door read _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes: Grand Re-Opening._

"I've been wanting to pop by all week," Parvati exclaimed, beaming.

_It's only a video game, that's all, just a game, _Dudley told himself firmly.

The inside of the shop contained all manner of flying, whizzing, popping, whirring objects that filled Dudley's ears with a dreadful cacophony of magical noise. After he had gotten over the initial shock, Dudley noticed a small silver cage in a corner of the main room wherein a pair of odd little creatures with potato-shaped heads were fighting viciously while shouting unintelligible streams of insults. They looked like no domesticated pets he had ever seen, and someone had placed miniature boxing gloves on their fists.

_Trained Fighting Gnomes- Entertain your friends, place your bets, watch them go! _read a sign near the cage.

If nothing else that day had gone at all how he would have anticipated, Dudley had to admit that the sight of the fighting gnomes gave him a small thrill, calling back memories of his glory days as a boxer.

Parvati kept up a near-constant commentary as she steered Dudley away and led him around the shop.

"They've only just re-opened, you know. Of course after what happened with Fred, everyone felt ever so sorry for the Weasleys and then when George closed down the shop we didn't think he'd come back to Diagon Alley again. But I've been hearing that Ron Weasley-you know Ron, Harry's best friend-he helped George loads and now they've started up again with the shop. It's the perfect place for you to get a wedding gift because they have these lemon cream pies that turn into snidgets after you take the first bite. And Quidditch players used to use snidgets instead of snitches, you see, a long time ago, so since Harry and Ginny were both seekers they would love that."

Dudley did his utmost to follow along and to file away the information thrown at him for future reference (A family of weasels, lemon cream pies, and something about Snickers). They had arrived near the front counter and Parvati had picked up a large yellow box, which she handed to the clerk, a pretty young blonde woman in a bright purple dress.

"Is that it?" Dudley asked. "I mean, is that the, er, present for H-Harry?"

Parvati nodded, then suddenly hit the palm of her hand against her forehead and said, "Oh of course, you don't have any money, do you?"

Dudley reached into his jacket pocket and produced a twenty pound note, but Parvati laughed at him.

"No, no, not Muggle money," she said, showing him a handful of fat gold and silver coins that gleamed magnificently. As she paid she asked the clerk, "Is George here today?"

"Mr. Weasley isn't in today," the clerk replied. Dudley's eyes, meanwhile were riveted to the few gold coins which remained in Parvati's hand. He supposed that the wizards who ran this shop could do worse than mounds of gold and pets who played at boxing.

They stepped out of the shop shortly afterward, for which Dudley was extremely grateful. Parvati gave Dudley the tote bag she had purchased containing Harry's gift, her remaining gold still clinking in her pocket.

"I ought to have paid," Dudley muttered, reddening at the thought of his ungallant behaviour.

"You can pay me back by taking me to lunch," Parvati told him with a sly twinkle in her eye.

That was when the shop's banner burst into flames over their heads.

* * *

Delilah Savage, senior member of the Auror Office, sat across from Harry Potter in the trainee Aurors' lounge, holding a thick sheaf of parchment and wearing a worried look. Harry could not fathom why he had been called into a meeting on his lunch break, but he had heard a great deal of muttering all through the Department that day and his misgivings had only increased when he had seen the expression on his superior's face.

"Harry, you should know that this is not standard procedure as you are still in the late stages of training," Delilah began. "However Gawain Robards and I are in agreement that you may have experience pertinent to the matter at hand, and so I have called you in to reveal some sensitive information."

Harry shuffled uncomfortably in his chair; a feeling of deep foreboding was growing in the pit of his stomach.

"As you are aware there has been increased dark wizard activity in central England these three months now," Delilah went on. "Head Auror Robards spoke of Fenrir Greyback's break-out from Azkaban at the recent conference in Edinburgh. Earlier today our fears were confirmed. A young witch by the name of Verity Sinistra was abducted from Diagon Alley by Greyback and two unidentified associates."

"I know her," said Harry, appalled. "She works at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Is anyone else missing? How did Greyback get into Diagon Alley unnoticed?"

Delilah opened the parchment file in her hands and handed Harry the first page, adding, "No others have been reported missing. I think you'll be relieved to know that George Weasley was not on the premises at the time. Greyback's associates are reported to have caused a distraction outside the shop in order that access might be gained inside. Have you any idea as to who might be traveling with Greyback?"

"The Carrows," Harry murmured, as much to himself as to Delilah. It would be just like them to come out of hiding now that they had the chance to rally to a more powerful ally. "Hang on," Harry exclaimed suddenly, his eyes scanning the lower part of the report in his hands. "Is this right? A Muggle called _Dudley Dursley_was found at the scene of the attack?"

Delilah nodded absently. "Mr. Dursley has been detained by the Obliviator's Squad and is scheduled for routine memory modification this afternoon once his questioning is complete."

Harry stared at her for a full ten seconds before his senses returned to him. He felt as though the world had been turned upside down all of a sudden.

"I'm going to need to speak to him," Harry said.

* * *

Dudley sat in a dimly lit room in a government office-an underground _wizarding_ government office, of all the bloody things-clenching and unclenching his fists in a black rage. And that lot could not even be bothered to keep a clean work environment: the room was filled with bric-a-brac of ever kind, from cracked old mirrors to spinning tops that emitted the most irritating whisting noise. There was even an insect of some sort, he thought a scarab or water beetle, hovering in the corner. It was enough to drive Dudley mental. He had been questioned by a mustachioed freak in a dress and cape about his recollections of the ordeal at the Diagonal Alley, over and over, until his head was spinning and he could not bear to speak anymore. Yet still the images danced through his head like the reel of some horror movie that could not be turned off.

"You can pay me back by taking me to lunch," Parvati had said. Then all hell had broken loose.

The banner above the freak shop had caught fire and shortly afterward a sharp _crack_ had sounded to Dudley's immediate left. He had turned to see a short, portly man who had almost certainly not been there a moment ago standing with another wand-thing held above his head. A thin lasso of honest-to-God flames were coming out of the wand, and Dudley had leapt aside, throwing his arms in front of Parvati to protect her from the swirling tongues of fire lapping at terrified passers-by. But Parvati was no longer behind him: she had taken out her own wand and was pointing it at the newcomer, muttering nonsense words under her breath. The lasso of flames had vanished, but before Dudley could puzzle over whether Parvati had made it happen, another _crack_ had echoed to his right and a woman every bit as stout as her partner had appeared out of thin air to shoot a jet of red light at Parvati.

"Dudley, you need to get out of here," Parvati had yelled. For some reason her movements had become sluggish, and she appeared to be struggling to move the arm holding her wand. Dudley had stood frozen, unable to formulate a thought beyond blind terror. His first instinct had been to pummel the man with the flames, but before he could bring himself to launch an attack a horde of customers had come trooping out of the shop to assist Parvati in subduing the plump man and woman. Only there was no one there. Both offenders had vanished as quickly as they had appeared.

"Dudley?"

A voice roused Dudley from his dark thoughts, and he saw that Parvati was peeking into the room, a stricken look on her face. Dudley turned away from her, feeling a small twinge of guilt which he squashed immediately. _Enough of this nonsense_, he told himself sternly. All this time, there was a good reason his parents had kept away from her lot.

"Oooh, I'm so sorry, Dudley," said Parvati, rushing to his side. "I've been running through the department all day trying to find out where you were, and no one would tell me. Are you all right?"

Dudley sat for an unknowable time, contemplating what he meant to do. The freaks who had brought him in had not bothered to hide their purpose from him, no doubt thinking that he would be unable to understand a word they said. But Dudley had managed to read through several of Harry's school books in the past few days, and he realized what was meant by _Obliviation_. They meant to wipe his memory.

He would beat them to a pulp before they had the chance, he had decided. They had no right to take his _thoughts_ from him. But in the meantime...

Dudley turned a blank stare on Parvati and said, "Who are you?"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm afraid some of you are going to hate me now... Of course you should know this is by no means the end of the affair. But there are some big obstacles and issues that these two kids have to overcome. This was rather a short chapter but the next one will be longer. Reviews are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

Parvati's eyes grew very wide and filled with tears immediately.

"Dudley?" she murmured. "It's me, it's Parvati. Don't mess around, it's not funny."

Dudley took a deep breath and, hating himself a little, snapped, "I've never met you before. What do you want?"

"I'm too late," she said, and Dudley could tell that she was speaking more to herself than anyone. "They wiped your memory already. Oh, I'm too late!"

Without another word she swept out of the room, wiping furiously at her eyes. Dudley buried his face in his hands. The memory of the smell of Parvati's hair haunted him, her smile and her laugh, the way she looked at him as though he was the most interesting person in the world. He thought back to the mounds of gold and the fighting little creatures in the Diagonal Alley with something akin to wistfulness.

"Stop it," he said aloud, mentally chastising himself. He had made his choice. Dudley thought briefly of the deal he had made with Hermione Granger, wondering whether he ought to continue on with that ill-advised venture. That was a dilemma for another time, he decided. At present he needed to get himself out of this place.

He stood, intending to try the door. He had seen one of the freaks in capes point his wand at the doorknob and heard the lock click, but if all else failed Dudley supposed he could break the door down. Just as he was about to try his luck, however, the door burst open again and Dudley found himself face to face with Harry Potter.

The temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees and a deep silence expanded through the room. Dudley and Harry faced one another, each unable to believe what he was seeing. What Dudley saw was a young man in a well-tailored (if a little ridiculous) cloak and dark clothes, with unbroken glasses framing his disbelieving face; a man small in stature, but healthy and vital and whose stance betrayed that he was undeniably in charge of the situation. Somehow the image Dudley had always held of Harry in his mind was that of a scrawny kid with a dodgy air and baggy clothes. If he had ever existed, that boy was no more. This was the Harry Potter that Hestia whatever-her-name-was and Dedalus however-you-said-it had spoken of in Dudley's presence: respected and in command. Dudley could understand the attentions other freaks had always seemed to bestow so lavishly upon his cousin, which had seemed stupid to him at the time.

Dudley considered pretending that his memory had been wiped of Harry as well. But his cousin had grown up watching the deceptions he perpetrated on his mother every day, and something told Dudley that Harry was not likely to be taken in by the same kind of charade.

Another woman stood behind Harry, but Dudley ignored her. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that he had parted with his cousin on good terms, Dudley extended his hand and said, "Hello."

It was a moment fraught with tension, but at length Harry's face broke into an uncertain grin and he shook Dudley's hand, eyeing him as though he was a household pet that had learned to talk.

"It's been ages, Big D," Harry said. "You, er, you look well. Mind if I ask how you ended up here?"

"Got sort of... brought along to this shop called Wheezing Weasels, run by your lot." Dudley struggled to maintain his train of thought as he formulated an explanation, which proved difficult because there was so much about the story he did not understand himself. "There was a man who set fire to the place. Withmagicorsomething." He cringed. "And I landed here. Won't let me go until they obliterate- er, _obliviate_ me."

Dudley could not be sure whether the sight of Harry's jaw hanging open in shock was a good sign or not.

Finally Harry turned to address the woman behind him. "He's my cousin. You don't need to wipe his memory. I can take him home."

"I have my orders," the woman replied haughtily. She wore her hair in a splendid arrangement atop her head like a beehive, and her gold wire-rimmed glasses gave her a rather superior air.

"Right, then I'll need to speak to Arthur Weasley," Harry told her.

"I don't see what that has to do with the matter at hand."

Harry's eyes flashed. "As Head of Muggle Liaison, I think you'll find his involvement would have everything to do with this matter. I'll get him myself."

He made to exit the room, but at the last moment the haughty woman scowled and held him back, muttering something to the effect that she would do it herself even though it was a huge imposition. Dudley had a vague sense that this was exactly what Harry had intended. Though he had to admit to himself that he was happy to see his cousin, Dudley found that he remained very much frightened of him as well.

"I never thought I'd be thankful for Dementors," Harry remarked as they awaited the woman's return, "but they must have really done a number on you."

Dudley shrugged. "Heard you... er," he cleared his throat, examining his feet quite carefully so as to avoid looking at Harry. "I heard you were getting married."

"Merlin, where did you hear that?"

Merlin? Merlin of the Arthurian legend and the round table, who starred in one of Dudley's favorite video games? Dudley's tired brain labored to decipher Harry's meaning, coming to the startling conclusion that many of the characters he had long thought made-up might in fact be alive and hiding among Harry's lot. He wondered with some trepidation if James Bond or Darth Vader might be hiding somewhere in this very building.

"Harry." A second woman, gruff-voiced but of a much pleasanter demeanor, had entered the room. "Harry, you should know that Rita Skeeter is out in the Atrium. Something about Muggles in the Ministry and a disgrace."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks Delilah. I'll have to see if Hermione might help me chase her off."

Dudley twitched at the mention of Hermione's name, attracting a curious glance from Harry. He tried his best to adopt an expression of total ignorance, so as not to give away his connivance with Harry's friend, but was not sure he had pulled it off.

The woman named Delilah added, "And Arthur asked me to let you know that he pulled some strings and you're free to go with Mr. Dursley here."

Harry and Dudley's eyes met, and there was a curious, fleeting moment in which they shared a small smirk of disbelief at hearing Dudley addressed as "Mr. Dursley." The moment passed, and Harry clapped his hands together.

"Excellent," he said. "I owe him one. Listen Dudley, would you mind staying here for a minute? There's some press downstairs I have to get rid of and it wouldn't do to take you with me. I don't want people finding out you're here or they'll ask all kinds of questions."

Dudley nodded, and Harry was gone with a sweep of his cloak. Batman, Dudley reflected while he stood alone in the dimly lit room, now, Batman would have been an exceptional man to meet while he was here, if indeed he did exist. Parvati would have liked his Batman comics... No. He mustn't think that way.

Harry returned within five minutes and gave Dudley a lot of mumbo-jumbo about reporters and departments and something called _Floo powder_. They walked together through the halls of the underground structure without incident until they arrived at an enormous room lined entirely with fireplaces.

"Keep your head down," Harry advised. "You're dressed like a Muggle, you'll attract notice."

Dudley bowed his head, stealing a few furtive glances here and there as he allowed himself to be led into an old-fashioned lift. Inside, a cool voice announced the names of a series of departments which Dudley did not even attempt to understand.

"Once we reach the top you'll be in a telephone box in Muggle London," Harry told him. "I've sent for a taxi for you. Try not to get into too much trouble after you leave."

"Thank you." The words escaped Dudley's lips before he could properly think on what he had really meant to say. Perhaps he had meant to express his frustration that his rights had been entirely violated by the imprisonment he had suffered at the hands of his cousin's lot. Perhaps he had meant to ask about Batman. Yet somehow, Dudley knew that he really wanted to thank Harry, both for coming to his aid that day and for saving his life five years ago.

Harry gave him a strange look. "You could come to my wedding, you know. If you want."

Dudley's first impulse, after the events of that day, was to refuse. However the prospect of earning his life back changed his mind. Besides, he could not say that seeing Harry again after all this time was entirely distasteful. It would be a one-off, he told himself sternly. He would attend the wedding, collect his reward from Hermione Granger, and have no more of this magic nonsense. No matter how grateful he might be to Harry. No matter how pretty Parvati was, or how giddy she made him feel... No. No more. There was no place for him in his cousin's world.

The lift clanged up into a red telephone box, and just like that Dudley was back in the sane peoples' London. He turned to face Harry as he stepped out, and muttered, "You'll send me the time and place for the wedding, then?"

Harry nodded curtly and handed him the tote bag from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes he had almost forgotten about. Dudley took a step towards a taxi waiting for him nearby.

"Your mother wanted to be one of us once," Harry called after him, thoroughly startling Dudley, who stopped to listen with his back still turned. "She wanted to be a witch. She wrote to the headmaster at my school, Hogwarts, and asked if she could attend. She didn't always hate magic."

The telephone box door slid shut in time for Harry to add "See you around, Big D," and to leave Dudley completely stricken by the side of the road.

By the time Dudley arrived home that night courtesy of a helpful but rather incompetent taxi driver, there were five messages on his phone from his boss at Grunnings asking where he had disappeared to. He erased them all, ignored his father's indignant queries about where he had been all day, and locked himself in his room, where he found yet another surprise awaiting him on his desk.

A piece of unusual looking paper almost the color of tempered animal hide had been placed by his computer. Feeling that no one person should ever be expected to deal with so much information in a day, Dudley picked it up and began to read:

_Mr. Dudley Dursley_

_It has come to the attention of my coworkers and myself that at approximately one thirty-seven this afternoon you were taken into the custody of the Ministry of Magic and subsequently escorted out by one Harry James Potter, your estranged cousin._

_This reporter requests your aid in the form of an interview in which you will disclose the nature of this day's events as well as any and all other information regarding your unpublicized childhood growing up with Mr. Potter. In exchange we will refrain from revealing to one Ms. Parvati Patil of the Muggle Liaison office that your memory of her is in fact as intact as ever. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter and encourage you to reply by Muggle post if this is most convenient to you. We will receive the message._

_Sincerely,_

_Rita Skeeter_

_Special Correspondent_

_Daily Prophet_

* * *

A dark expanse of forest. A clearing bathed in the cold light of the moon. A group of creatures gathered in a clearing where blood was often shed.

"The others're late," a cold voice called from beneath a hood. "We'll start without 'em."

A stooped figure also concealed beneath a hood shuffled forward, dragging to the center of a circle a bound, gagged woman with short blond hair and several deep gashes across her arms. The light from the waxing moon threw her features into sharp relief, revealing a look of abject terror.

"Verity Sinistra?" the first speaker demanded coldly, ignoring the girl's distress. When she did not speak he nodded to the stopped figure, who administered a swift kick to the girl's stomach. Groaning, she nodded.

"Daughter of the Hogwarts professor of Astronomy?" the speaker continued. When the girl nodded again he threw back his hood and smiled, a gruesome sight. His face was grubby and looked as animal as it did human.

He crouched next to the frightened girl, ripped away the cloth gagging her, and said, "Pretty little thing. You and I are going to be right good friends, aren't we?"

"What do you want from me?" the girl asked in a hush.

A cloud passed over the moon, temporarily casting a shadow over the man's face. His eyes flashed in the gloom like those of a wolf.

"I want you to get me into Hogwart."

The man raised his head to the sky and inhaled the night with an air of savage triumph. He walked away, leaving the girl behind to shake her head in silent protest. As the clouds blew out of the sky and the moon returned to watch over the forest, she heard a faint howl in the distance.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"Oh yes, this is definitely blackmail," Hermione told Dudley over a steaming mug of coffee the following morning. He had been surprised, after agreeing to a meeting at the location of her choice, to walk in and find that the place was a perfectly normal coffee shop with not a cloaked freak in sight.

"That's what I thought," said Dudley, though in truth he had not been entirely sure what to read between the lines of Rita Skeeter's letter until Hermione confirmed it for him. "What... Is there anything I can do?"

"I've had nothing but trouble from Rita Skeeter for years," Hermione replied, somewhat ignoring his question. "And I have to warn you, she's ruthless. She won't be happy unless you agree to this interview and tell her loads of horrible stories about Harry."

Dudley took an overlarge gulp of coffee to avoid having the respond and the scalding liquid caused his eyes to water. He shook his head, frustrated.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Well you're-" he lowered his voice, "-a _witch_. If you can do magic tricks why don't you just _magic_ her away?"

Hermione smiled. "It doesn't really work that way, I'm afraid. You saw the Ministry yesterday. There are rules wizards have to follow, just as much as Muggles. It's like..." she waved her hands through the air, appearing to ponder her explanation. "It's like those synthetic toxins scientists discovered in Teflon a few years ago. Your company-Grunnings-they had to stop using Teflon in all their products, didn't they? It was in the Muggle papers."

Dudley nodded.

"It's the same way with wizards," Hermione went on. "After the war ended two years ago, the one that had you and your family in hiding, our government made up a lot of new rules. For instance, there was a type of Snake called a Basilisk whose venom can kill in minutes. It was like our version of those toxins in your drills. The Ministry of Magic spent a lot of time shutting down all the black market trade on basilisk venom. You can't get the stuff anywhere on Earth now. And that's only one example. There was a time when I caught Skeeter doing something illegal, but during the war she bribed her way into the files at the Ministry I could have used against her. Any spell I used against her now would send me to jail."

Dudley eyed her in astonishment and muttered, "How did you know that... all that stuff about, well, normal people? _Muggles_, that's your word. You read the papers?"

"My parents are dentists," Hermione said. "They're Muggles and they live regular lives just like you. They've never done magic."

"Then how come you-?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'm Muggle-born. Magic is a recessive but highly resilient gene. One of my ancestors was probably magic, but that's too far back to remember. It doesn't make any difference to my abilities, but of course there are some people in the wizarding world who would look down on me for it."

Which was a little daft, Dudley reflected. After all, he supposed he would prefer not to be judged by the actions of his own family. He had neither his mother's insatiable thirst for gossip nor his father's endless capacity to rage against everyday events. At least not anymore. In fact, Dudley sometimes felt that he had very little in common with his family at all, besides the secret about Harry's lot.

Hermione seemed as though she knew exactly what was going through his head.

"Don't worry about that part," she said, giving him a very level look. "I wouldn't judge them too harshly. After all, you're the one who knows so well what freaks _our lot_ can be, aren't you?"

He had no retort.

Dudley returned home that night in a towering temper, having spent all day at work apologizing to his boss for his previous day's tardiness and gazing at a pastry shop longingly from his office window. The letter from Rita Skeeter was still in his briefcase, and he intended to lock himself in his bedroom to brood over it and ignore his mother's incessant knocking. Alas, he was not so lucky. The moment he walked through the door Dudley was ambushed by both of his parents and ushered into the kitchen.

"How was your day Diddykins?" Petunia asked, fussing over his jacket and setting a plate of pork chops before him on the table.

Dudley did not sit down. He gaped, open-mouthed, at the seat opposite his at the table. A young girl sat looking up at him expectantly, wearing a nervous smile and tucking her hair behind her protuberant ears every few seconds.

"Dudley, you remember Audrina Fisher from Marge's wedding?" Vernon said, waving an airy hand as he effectuated introductions.

"Fifth wedding," Dudley muttered under his breath, too low for his father to hear. He did remember the girl, vaguely, but not in a way that made him particularly happy to see her in his kitchen.

"Well dear, Audrina has just gotten an internship here in the city and is moving in nearby," Petunia informed him. Her eyes held the smug gleam of a matchmaker on the verge of success. "I thought it would be nice for the two of you to get better acquainted."

Dudley dropped into his chair and grunted a noncommittal reply. Vernon gave him a very pointed look, which Dudley ignored as long as he possibly could. When he was no longer able to disregard his father's glares and nudges under the table, Dudley sighed and addressed Audrina.

"How do you, er, know Aunt Marge?" he asked.

"I'm an amateur dog breeder," Audrina said at once. "Mostly bulldogs. I met Marge at a dog show in Wales. We got along quite well and she gave me the most precious little pup for Christmas. I named him Louis after Louis the Sixteenth of France. Seventeenth century monarchs are another passion of mine..."

She seemed to need to encouragement, but babbled on enthusiastically while Dudley nodded her and there, allowing his mind to wander while focussing on the droning sound of her voice. He supposed she had a pleasant enough voice, though not as lovely as Parvati's. Her hair was stringy and limp, unlike Parvati's which always looked sort of shiny in the light, and she was perpetually tucking it behind her ears in a sort of nervous tick. Dudley found after a minute or two that simply looking at her put him to sleep.

"Dudders? Dudley, dear?"

Petunia was looking at Dudley with concern, her knuckles white on the handle of the spatula she was holding.

"Mum. What?" Dudley asked, shaking himself out of his torpor with great effort.

"Audrina was asking you whether you're interested in ornithology," Petunia said.

"Orni-?"

"Birds," said Audrina a little testily, as though daring Dudley to admit that he had not been paying attention.

In his haste to fill the awkward silence Dudley blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

"I saw a shop full of owls the other day. And toads and rats as well."

Vernon dropped his knife and fork with an almighty clatter and Petunia got a very pinched look on her face.

"I don't approve of allowing vermin into the city," Audrina huffed. "Rats belong in sewers, don't they?"

Another hour and two full courses of mashed potatoes and gravy later found Dudley being dragged into the sitting room by his livid father and flustered mother. Audrina had ploughed on with her diatribe on owls and rats and the lack of cleanliness in the city, and Dudley had toyed with his pork chops and potatoes and said not a word. All in all, the dinner party had not been such a rousing success.

"Where the devil have your manners gone to?" Vernon demanded in a furious whisper.

Dudley shrugged. "Why is she here?" he asked.

"You've been so peculiar these last few months," said Petunia. "We thought it might cheer you up to meet a nice girl. Audrina comes from a lovely family, you know, and she went to a good school. Why don't you try spending just a bit more time with her, Popkin?"

Dudley stared at his mother for a full ten seconds. Then he turned towards the stairs without a word, climbed to the second landing, entered his room, and locked the door behind him. He could hear his parents arguing downstairs and he took a deep breath, willing himself not to smash the room to pieces. At length he found his patience and was able, instead, to pull a suitcase out from under his bed and throw random items inside it pell-mell. A jacket from his boxing days, an old comic, a pair of mismatched socks, a computer game he had not played for years... It seemed everything he owned was a relic from another life; he needed new things.

"Son, this is really no way for a man to behave," called a gruff voice outside, and Vernon rapped smartly on the door. Dudley ignored him.

"Darling why don't you come out so we can talk about what's upsetting you?" Petunia implored, knocking more softly but for much longer than her husband. Dudley ignored her, too.

When he was finished packing his things Dudley pried his window open and threw his trunk down. Thankfully, it landed in the hedgerows, which muffled the _thunk_ that came with its fall. He proceeded to climb out and step onto a branch from a tree that was near enough to reach. He was struck by how juvenile it might seem to sneak out of one's own house through the window.

If only he could disappear and transport himself through space like he had seen Parvati's friend do what felt like a lifetime ago in the parking lot of Grunnings.

Dudley frowned as he swung down from his perch on the tree and landed in the garden. Had he really just wished he could do magic? Surely it was the stress from the evening's frustrations. Of course, he didn't wish that.

Seizing his trunk and brushing a few twigs from his hair, Dudley strode into the gathering dusk that enveloped Privet Drive. He was not entirely certain of where he was headed, but meandered from neighborhood to neighborhood for several hours until he was able to hail a taxi.

"Where to?" the driver asked him.

"Central London, please."

The driver eyed him in disbelief and barked, "That's a ways off, mate. Cost you a pretty penny."

Dudley unfastened the Rolex watch his father had given him when he had joined Grunnings and held it out to the driver.

"Here," he said. "Will you take this?"

"This is too much," the driver protested. Dudley insisted, and at length the driver accepted with much stuttered thanks. After an endless drive the taxi entered London and passed a rather dingy street which Dudley recognized.

"Stop!" he shouted. "This-this is fine, thanks."

He climbed out before the driver could say anything more and ran with his trunk to the storefront that had attracted his attention. It was an antiques shop with a green awning that looked awfully familiar, standing next to a tea shop that had closed for the night. The last time Dudley had passed this way, there had been a pub called The Leaky Cauldron wedged between those two shops.

An entire alley had vanished in a matter of days.

Dudley stood immobile, stunned, and torn between his curiosity and the distaste he felt towards the now disappeared magical domain. Fortunately a distraction arrived in the form of a young woman who strode right up to the gap between the two stores. Less fortunately, the woman turned out to be the very last person he wanted to see.

Parvati stopped short directly to Dudley's right and faced the tea shop. She had found time since the previous afternoon to cut her hair, acquire pierced ears, and adopt a dramatically different style of clothing than Dudley had ever seen her wear. He gaped, willing himself to turn on his heel and run away. But it was already too late.

"Hello there," Parvati said, smiling at him. "Nice night, isn't it?"

It was as though they had never met. Dudley's mind was a rolling, roiling turmoil of confusion. Had she caught on to his game and decided to play along? Had her memory somehow been wiped, too? He struggled to regain control over his breathing and to remember the one thing he must do at all costs: act as though he did not know her, either.

"Aren't you going in?" Parvati asked.

Dudley turned, and nearly fell over. There, right in front of him, stood The Leaky Cauldron, almost as though it had been there all along. It was as though Parvati's presence had triggered its appearance. Dudley frowned, unsure why Parvati would expect him to enter the magical world if she thought him obliviated. Nevertheless, faced with the pressure of her expectant gaze, Dudley folded and entered the pub. Once inside, however, he held back awkwardly without any notion of what he might do next. He sure as hell was not about to head back into the Diagonal Alley to be attacked by freaks who wanted to set him on fire.

Parvati had gone over to the bar, and she nodded at him, noting his embarrassment. She struck such a contrast to Audrina Fisher, who had all but ignored Dudley in favor of her endless discourse on bulldogs and God only knew what else. He was sorely tempted to join her at the bar. Feeling that he was about to get in much too deep once more, Dudley smiled furtively and began to back away towards the door.

"You look lost," Parvati called over. "Are you not from around here?"

"I- Yes... I mean no," Dudley stammered.

"Looking for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?"

"How do you know- I mean, no. I mean-" he stopped himself.

She laughed and pointed at his trunk, from which a flap of the tote bag he had gotten at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes peeked out near the corner.

"I'm Padma," she said. "Padma Patil."

A/N: Before anybody asks, I don't plan on this turning into some weird love triangle. The fact that Parvati has a twin is just a great opportunity for some mistaken identity hijinks. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and reviews are appreciated as always.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I know I've kept you guys waiting for an update for far, far too long and I am really very sorry. What can I say, the wrackspurts were giving me a hard time... Enjoy!

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

"Pa... dma?"

Dudley stared at the smiling girl in front of him, unable to make heads or tails of her strange multiple identity games. He felt that it would be ungracious to call her out in the middle of the pub, and yet...

"Twins!" he burst out, startling the poor bartender so badly that she dropped a bottle of mustard which splattered all down her front.

Stupid, he scolded himself feverishly, he was so stupid. How could he not have realized that this girl must be Parvati's twin? Had Parvati mentioned that she had a twin at some point? Dudley really needed to start listening to her more closely. No! He would not listen at all. He would not see her again. On that he was resolved.

Wasn't he.

_Padma_ gave him an odd look and said, "Yes, I have a twin. How did you know?"

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that," Dudley muttered. "I meant, er, twins in general."

Stupid.

"You're a little peculiar," Padma remarked.

Dudley's cell phone rang, saving him from having to come up with an answer when he really felt that any extension of the current conversation would reflect poorly upon him.

"YES?" he barked into the phone, feeling a mixture of relief and exasperation at being diverted when his attention span was already so overextended.

"Watch your tone," Vernon shouted from the other end of the line. "You had better get back here in short _effing_ order, boy! Audrina was so upset when you left, she got in a funny way, wouldn't say a word. Then this- this- this _woman_ showed up. Rita Skeeter. One of _that lot_, I'd wager anything. Said she was looking for you."

Dudley's heart skipped a beat.

"Well? Speak up, Dudley. Are you there? _WELL?_" Dudley could practically see his father's face reddening; he could see the pulsing vein begin to stand out on his forehead.

Dudley took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, dad, but I can't live with you anymore. I'll see you at work. Say hi to mum for me."

He hung up and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with a sigh. Only then did it occur to him that he had no place to live anymore. He was officially homeless. He would likely end up sleeping in a box on a street corner and his ambitions to meet Batman would never be realized.

"In a bit of a bind, are you?" said Padma. She was looking with great curiosity at the pocket where he had placed his phone.

"You could say that."

"You know," Padma continued, "Hannah, the landlady here is an old friend of mine. I'm sure I could get you a last minute room if you'd like."

"Here?" Dudley said with no small amount of trepidation. It was certainly out of the question. It was certainly... a tempting alternative. He really did not fancy trying to trade his shoes for a room in some fleabag motel. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet and observed that in his haste to leave home he had packed almost everything he might need—from torn up comic book pages to eight pairs of socks—except money. A lonely five pounds sat in his wallet, mocking him. Moreover it was _Muggle_ money, and would not even buy him one drink in this place (Dudley flinched a little upon realizing that he was beginning to think in those terms).

Stupid.

Padma was waiting patiently for him to formulate an answer, apparently unperturbed by his long silence.

"I haven't got any way of paying," Dudley admitted.

Padma nodded in the direction of the bar and said, "During the war, there was a policy that if you couldn't pay the full price you could stay the night so long as you left the room as clean as you found it. I'm sure I could appeal to her to reinstate that rule for one night. Besides," she added, pointing at Dudley's tie, "that tie clip looks like solid gold. Is it?"

Dudley hedged a little inwardly, but his father had sounded more angry than distressed on the phone. There was no reason to believe that Rita Skeeter would actually harm his family. He nodded, making a mental note that all witches talked a great deal about this war that had taken place, and wondering whether wars were a frequent thing in the wizarding world.

"Well then you do have a way of paying," Padma declared happily.

The conversation that followed between Padma and the bartender sent Dudley's head spinning into a frenzy of confusion that felt all too common now that he had begun spending time with wizards and witches. So, rather than attempting to intervene on his own behalf, Dudley remained seated, with no watch, no tie clip, and no idea how he had managed to get himself into this situation when only this afternoon he had been on his way home expecting a warm meal and a quiet evening of solitary brooding.

The bartender smiled over at Dudley, which he took as a good sign. She had a sad smile, and Dudley wondered whether something had happened during the war they all talked about to make her look so sad. The thought of actually asking her was ridiculous: that was the kind of namby-pamby thing Harry would have done. Then again, Dudley knew, deep down, that he wished he had more in common with Harry.

"Come on," Padma called, and Dudley rose to face the unknown that awaited him.

* * *

Parvati Patil sat in her microscopic cubicle in the department of Muggle Liaison, the last one left at work once again. It was well past ten in the evening, but her boss had asked her to stay late to work on some trifling file to do with a hysterical old Muggle woman in Scotland who claimed to have spotted a werewolf wielding a sword. And when Wakanda asked you to stay late, she was really _ordering_ you to stay late.

She stuffed the file in her briefcase to make room on her desk, and laid her head down for just a moment so that she could close her eyes and clear her head. The case made no sense, but then neither had the Grunnings assignment, or the one before that wherein she had spent hours each day listening to a group of London schoolteachers insisting that little green men from outer space were stealing their fountain pens.

Abruptly, however, an inkling of a connection formed in her mind between localized disturbances near Hogsmead which the _Daily Prophet_ had recently reported, and the story about the werewolf.

"Patil!"

Parvati's head snapped up at the high-pitched screech and she struggled to sit upright in her chair as Wakanda glared at her from the cubicle's edge.

"Mrs. Phillips, I've had an idea—" Parvati began, but her boss cut her off.

"I was not aware that it was such a hardship for you to remain awake while you are working, Miss Patil."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't actually sleeping, I was just thinking," Parvati said.

Wakanda laughed. "I don't pay you to think, I pay you to work, don't I?

"Well, you hardly pay me at all," Parvati muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Wakanda asked sharply.

Parvati took a deep, calming breath. "Mrs. Phillips, I think the assignment you've given me may have a very important—"

"That assignment will be reassigned tomorrow," Wakanda snapped. Her eyes flashed with vindictive pleasure. "To someone with the inclination to perform actual work. Good evening, Miss Patil."

She turned on her heel and left Parvati sitting alone, fuming. After a full thirty seconds, Parvati jumped to her feet, gathered her coat and a few of the personal effects on her desk, and strode out into the dark hallway. She walked directly to the lift at a brisk pace, stopping only long enough to pop her head into her boss's vast, handsome office.

"Wakanda," she said clearly, "I quit."

The thunderstruck look on Wakanda's face was worth the anxiety Parvati felt as she entered the lift and left the Ministry a million times over.

Once outside Parvati stopped to catch her breath and stuff her favorite quill into her briefcase, and that was when she realized that she still had the werewolf file in her possession.

"Oh Merlin, do I dare?" she breathed. If Lavender had been there, she would have encouraged her, Parvati reflected.

And so, hoping with all her might that the Daily Prophet offices on Charing Cross Road would still be open, Parvati began to run down the street.

* * *

Dudley sat on a musty bed in his room on the top floor of the Leaky Cauldron Inn, unable to even attempt sleep while there might be a dragon or Lord knew what else next door. The noise drifting through the wall definitely resembled growling.

"Mental," Dudley muttered, shaking his head.

"You're the one talking to himself," a voice replied.

Dudley whipped around with his fists raised, ready to fight whatever invisible intruder might have snuck their way into his room. _Could_ wizards make themselves invisible? Three years ago when Harry had left Privet Drive for the last time Dudley had faked a violent fit of nausea after a few blocks so that Dedalus Bungle would allow his father would stop the car, and while his mother had fussed extensively over him he had squinted in the direction of the house, unable to explain to himself why he so badly wanted to see Harry leave, to say goodbye to his cousin one more time. On that occasion he was quite certain he had seen dark, human-shaped figures streak across the sky. So if wizards could fly, surely they could also vanish from sight.

"Over here, genius," the voice continued.

It was the mirror by the window.

Dudley uttered a little yelp; he could not help himself. The mirror chuckled.

"What—" Dudley stammered. "What—is—this?"

"I believe learned folks would refer to this as a conversation," the mirror replied, its tone dripping sarcasm.

There was _especially_ no way Dudley was going to get any rest with a talking mirror looming over him all night. He rose, unhooked the abomination from its place on the wall, and carried it to the other end of the room.

"What are you doing? Put me down!" the mirror protested. Ignoring it, Dudley strained to lower it to the ground without breaking the glass, for who knew what would happen in the event that he smashed a talking mirror? Would that count as... as murder? Dudley shook his head incredulously.

"... you got it?" a low voice drifted through the wall, barely audible over the growling from the other end of the room.

"Yes," a gruff voice, almost like a growl, replied. "The half-breed oaf nearly caught me at the edge of the grounds, but I got it."

There was a pause, and Dudley pressed his ear against the wall in a bout of instinctive curiosity.

"_Well?_" said the first voice.

The second laughed derisively. "You ain't going anywhere near it yet, Scabior. It stays with me for safekeeping."

"You'll have to hand it over when the time comes for the wed—"

There was a loud _thump_ followed by a scuffle, and the second man said, "_Don't_ speak out loud of the plan. You never know when there might be ears around us."

There was silence after that, and Dudley pulled his ear away from the wall, puzzling over what he had overheard. By any account it sounded like nothing more than an argument between acquaintances over some shared possession. Yet all day he had been reminding himself to keep his wits about him, and he had an ominous, niggling feeling in the back of his mind that the conversation he had just heard did not bode well. Sitting on his bed, Dudley resolved to mention it to Hermione the next time he saw her. It was likely that she would have some complicated, long-winded explanation.

"Nosy, are we?" the mirror called from across the room.

"Shove off," Dudley snapped at it, realizing a split second later that _he was speaking to a mirror_. Every time he thought he had gotten his head wrapped around magic, he received some new shock that sent his mind reeling.

And the mirror was not done with him.

"Good luck getting to sleep muttering to yourself all night," it said in a snide voice.

Surprisingly however, once night wore on and the growling nearby had slowed to a dull rumble, Dudley found that he was able to drift into sleep. Peaceful, dreamless sleep.

His awakening, on the other hand, was not so very peaceful. He could hear the gentle tap-tap-tap of his mother's shoes against the kitchen tiles as she prepared kippers and eggs, but before long the tapping grew more insistent, and the smell of breakfast became more akin to something he had smelled in the predators' cages once when he had gone to the zoo. Opening his eyes and sitting up abruptly, Dudley was overwhelmed with a sense of panic at the unfamiliar surroundings before the memory of the previous night came flooding back.

Honestly, part of him had hoped that it had all been a dream.

_Tap tap tap._

Dudley looked up at the window for the source of the noise, pinching his nose to avoid the smell coming from the room with the dragon-or-whatever-it-was, and saw a fully grown owl attempting to get inside.

"I don't believe this," he said gloomily, at a loss for how to proceed. The bird did not show any sign of giving up and leaving.

"It's your _Daily Prophet_," the mirror informed him in a bored voice, startling Dudley rather badly. "Complementary with the room. You have to let him in."

"Daily what?" Dudley repeated. He had some vague impression that prophets were nutters who claimed to see the future. Surely the owl was not about to carry some crazy bearded bloke into his room?

Inhaling deeply to calm himself, Dudley walked to the window and undid the latch, allowing the owl to screech loudly and fly in. Never in his life had Dudley come face to face with a real live bird of prey, though in some of the classrooms at Smeltings there had been stuffed version hung on the walls. But the owl made no threatening moves, simply holding out its leg, to which was attached what looked like a newspaper.

"Er... thank... you," Dudley tried, removing the paper from the bird's leg. Without preamble, it flew away out the window. Dudley set the newspaper flat on the desk near the window and saw with a jolt that a large photograph of a castle was plastered across the front, emblazoned with the headline _Gryffindor's Sword Stolen During Hogwarts Break-In._ And the clouds in the picture, and the trees and waves on the nearby lake, were _moving_. With another jolt Dudley realized that this must be the school Harry had gone to. It was difficult to deny that the castle did not look rather magnificent.

Dudley scanned the rest of the article, moving his finger over the text so as not to lose focus, which always helped him when reading.

_A break-in at Hogwarts School of Wtichcraft and Wizardry shocked students and teachers alike yesterday afternoon, as it appears that the unidentified thieves may have made off with a priceless artifact: the sword of Godric Gryffindor. The Auror Office currently claims to have no leads in the case, though Head Auror Gawain Robards recommends that protective enchantments used during the war be temporarily reinstated as a precaution. This reporter had the good fortune to be contacted by Parvati Patil of the Department of Muggle Liaison. "The circumstances might indicate a connection between the breakout of Fenrir Greyback from Azkaban, who was allegedly spotted in Hogsmead only a few days ago, and more recently by a Muggle woman who claims to have seen him with a sword," Miss Patil tells us exclusively. For more on Patil's dramatic and possibly unhinged resignation from the Ministry, see pages 5 and 12._

Dudley stared, disbelieving, at the bottom of the page where a smaller photograph of Parvati which he had failed to notice showed her waving up at him. So Parvati had quit her job, it seemed. How had he not known about that? Dudley sighed. Of course he had not known. He was not speaking with Parvati.

For a long moment Dudley looked around at the room; at the wall that separated him from a possible dragon; at the talking mirror, at the moving photographs in front of him; and was hit by a startling flash of clarity. What good was avoiding Parvati when she was all his mind kept coming back to, whether he remained in the Muggle world or not? For that matter, what good was keeping Harry at a distance, really, when his cousin had done much more for him than his parents had in their entire lives? Oh, to be certain, his mother and father doted on him. But a painfully honest voice in the back of his mind which had been growing stronger for the past few years insisted that their doting had probably not done him much good.

Parvati, Harry, and Hermione... he had a great deal to discuss with each of them, and no idea how to find any of them. He would need to get started on his search right away.

"What do I really have to lose?" he asked himself out loud.

"Now you're beginning to make sense," the mirror commented.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I know you guys have been clamoring for more Parvati/Dudley interaction, so... ask and you shall receive! Cheers.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Dudley arrived at work a full thirty minutes late in yesterday's clothes with his tie askew, muttering to himself as he dropped a bulging suitcase into his office and rushed to make himself a coffee. The effect on the rest of the employees was palpable. An uneasy silence settled among them as the newly appointed junior merchandise executive drained his coffee cup in one, settled into his desk, and through a gap in the doorway was seen to actually remove his shoes.

Dudley groaned, massaging his callused feet, quite unaware that he had such an attentive audience. He had walked all the way from the Leaky Cauldron to the Grunnings building, and thought he heartily deserved a few moments' rest.

Alas, not ten seconds had passed when the shrill ringing of his phone assaulted his ears.

"Yes?" Dudley answered wearily.

"Mr. Dursley, your fath- the president would like to see you upstairs," his secretary squealed, clearly aware of the severity of her announcement.

"Great," Dudley grumbled. "Thanks. Tell him I'll be up shortly."

Dudley hastened to put his shoes back on and to bustle out to the hallway, where twenty pairs of eyes looked away innocently and feigned disinterest. Only one pair remained fixed on him: Jenkins was staring at Dudley with a vile smugness that made the latter want to punch his lights out. If the talking mirror could only have seen Jenkins, Dudley reflected, it would have told him what was what.

Up the elevator all the way to the top floor Dudley attempted in vain to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair, until he found himself before a large oak door bearing a gold plaque that read _Vernon Dursley, Acting President, C.E.O_. Well, if Dudley could face a pub full of wizards, he could certainly face a telling off from his father. His breathing a little shallow, he raised his fist and knocked.

"Come in," called Vernon's voice, surprisingly calm.

Dudley entered the office he had always found a little austere, if handsome, looking anywhere but at his father. As a show of contrition, he sat himself in the most uncomfortable, straight-backed chair he could find, and waited for the barrage to begin.

"Look up, boy," Vernon instructed. When Dudley obliged him with a sigh, he went on, "I received an alarming message from someone on your floor today, Dudley. All kinds of claims. Said you've been frequently late, erratic, your work not up to par."

_Jenkins_, Dudley thought darkly.

"Do you have anything to say?" Vernon asked.

"I apologize, I feel terrible, it won't ever happen again," Dudley reeled off, waving his hand through the air in a circular motion to indicate that this was a fairly obvious response.

Vernon placed both of his hands on the desk and leaned across it to look directly into Dudley's eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was unusually gentle.

"Son, I can't wrap my head around what's going on with you. You storm out last night, you leave us to deal with some... some _freak_ of a woman. No calls, nothing. This isn't like you."

Dudley mumbled something unintelligible, and Vernon made a noise of impatience.

"I said," Dudley repeated, his heart racing, "you don't really know what I'm like."

Vernon's eyes bulged out of his head in an almost comical expression of rage, and Dudley counted to five in his head. When he was finished, right on schedule, that good old pulsing vein had popped up on his father's forehead.

"I'm sorry, but it's true. I'm not eleven anymore, dad. You can't... _distract_ me with shiny toys." Dudley sat back, rather pleased with his clever analogy, and so missed the look of utter incomprehension on his father's face. The tension in the room was mounting higher, ever higher, until-

"Get out," Vernon snapped. "Now, get out now. Did you hear me? OUT!"

Dudley shrugged, rose, and made his way to the door, filled with a sense of regret that was difficult to place. He had really tried, this time, to put what was wrong with him into words.

"You're on thin ice," Vernon told him before he could leave. "I don't want to see you back up here. Don't give me a reason to sack you."

Dudley closed the door without turning around. His hands were shaking, whether with fury or disappointment he could not tell. After stepping into the elevator and returning to his floor, he found himself surrounded by narrowed, judging eyes once more.

"I know my personal life must be fascinating to you all," Dudley announced in a carrying voice, "but don't you have something better to do?"

Amidst a torrent of muttering they returned to work, throwing him sidelong glances every few seconds. All except for_ bloody_ Jenkins.

"There's a visitor for you, Dursley," he called in his insufferable smug voice. "I told her to wait in your office."

_Her._ Dudley had an unpleasant feeling he knew who the visitor might be. And sure enough, upon entering his office, he was greeted by the sight of an unmistakably witch-like woman in an acid green suit and horn-rimmed glasses, rifling through the files in his desk.

"Rita Skeeter," the woman introduced herself, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.

Dudley sighed. "Yes, I thought you might be."

The woman's face broke into a wide, predatory grin, revealing several gold teeth. "I think you'll want to come along with me," she said, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Dudley's mind leapt to the folded up newspaper in his suitcase, and he did some quick thinking. It made him feel almost lightheaded, yet he came out with a plan.

"Your letter said that you work for the _Daily Prophet_," he said.

Rita Skeeter nodded.

"And is that where we'll be going now?"

Another nod, this time rather impatient.

Dudley grinned and walked over to the window to close the blinds. "And can you use your magic wand thingy to make it so that after we leave no one will be able to open the door to this room? Not even someone with a key? I don't want to be caught skipping out again."

"You catch on fast!" Rita Skeeter exclaimed, trailing a finger over his shoulder in an appraising sort of way. "Of course I can, darling."

She pulled a wand much like Parvati's from her pocket, and for a moment Dudley flinched, expecting to see flames shoot from its tip. Instead she simply flicked it in the direction of the door, her gold teeth glinting as she whispered some nonsense words, and Dudley heard the lock give a series of odd, resounding clicks.

Unbelievable.

Then he realized that they were locked in.

"Hang on," Dudley said. "How are we getting to your _Daily Prophet_, then?"

Rita Skeeter raised one perfectly drawn eyebrow and extended her arm in Dudley's direction.

"Take my hand, darling, and all shall be explained," she said mysteriously.

Dudley was not at all sure that he trusted this shark-like woman with the gold teeth who had stalked his family, but he was in too deep already. There was no going back. He reached out and took her hand.

"!"

Ten seconds later found Dudley on his hands and knees on a cold stone floor, screaming and retching and unable to catch his breath. The sensation of being squeezed into an impossibly tight rubber tube had hit him the moment he had taken that madwoman's hand, and he had been certain that he was about to die. What had he been thinking, trusting her? She was clearly some kind of sadistic, dark enchantress.

Dudley rolled onto his back and felt his arms and sides for broken bones. As he slowly began to catch his breath and regain feeling in his fingers, Dudley came to realize that, incredibly, all his limbs were intact. He had been convinced that his entire body had turned to goo.

Opening his eyes with great difficulty, Dudley spotted Rita Skeeter standing nearby, having a hushed conversation with a short man toting an antique camera.

"... don't know why you're making such a fuss, Gonzo," she was saying dismissively.

"Apparating with a _Muggle_, Rita! I've never heard of such reckless-"

"He's cousin to Harry Potter, Gonzo, try to keep up. Besides, absolutely no one saw us. And if we can get the scoop from him now we can get an extension on our deadline and include the extra material in the book."

Dudley coughed pointedly to announce his presence and Rita Skeeter threw her hands into the air in delight.

"Dudley, you're still with us!" she exclaimed. "Excellent. Right this way, if you please."

Dudley stood, half expecting his legs to give way beneath him, and allowed himself to be led through a drab vestibule into a small, bustling office. The low-hanging ceiling and wood-paneled walls gave the place a slightly claustrophobic aura, yet a few roaring fireplaces made it warm and inviting. A dozen desks lined the far wall, each with quills dashing magically across stacks of notes. And there, standing in the far corner sorting through bright green and purple folders, was the one he really wanted to see.

"Will you just wait here a tick while I run and get my quick quotes quill, Dudley?" asked Rita Skeeter.

He nodded absently, already steeling himself for what was to be done. With one last deep breath Dudley strode into the corner towards Parvati, cleared his throat, and extended his hand.

"Hello," he said simply. "I'm Dudley Dursley."

Parvati looked up and her eyes widened, though Dudley was pleased to see that her surprise appeared marred with genuine happiness. She shook his hand, her mouth working silently over words she was apparently unable to form, and he smiled.

"Parvati Patil," she said at last, a small blush creeping up her neck.

"That's a lovely name," Dudley commented, and Parvati let out a small giggle. Safe in the knowledge that, incredibly, unbelievably, she still liked him, Dudley felt his courage grow.

"It's nice to, er... meet you," Parvati went on. "What are you doing here, Dudley?"

"I'm to give an interview about my cousin, Harry Potter. Apparently he's quite famous. But talking to you looked like much more fun. Can I tell you a secret, Parvati?" He leaned in conspiratorially. "I'm a Muggle."

Parvati looked at him strangely. "You know about Muggles, do you?"

"Only a little," Dudley replied, shrugging. "Supposedly it means I can't do magic. But I still managed to get all the way here from my work in a snap when Rita Skeeter and I Appa-Apparitioned... Appa-"

"Apparated," Parvati corrected, grinning. Then her smile faltered. "She Apparated with a Muggle in side-along? She really oughtn't have done that, you must have been terrified! That Rita Skeeter has been getting dangerously overconfident since her biography of Dumbledore-er, her last book, you know."

Dudley nodded, striving to look serious and pensive. He was pleased, and more than a little surprised, that his plan appeared to be working so well. Something about the casually haphazard way in which wizards and witches went about their daily lives had emboldened him, and he felt as though he could do anything, anything at all.

"Not much I can do to help you with that, though, I'm afraid," Parvati continued, and Dudley's spirits fell a little. "I've just started here. I quit my old job yesterday and they took me on as a junior correspondent, which really means I'm to fetch Rita Skeeter's notes for her, and all her ornamental handbags and glasses, and her coffee. Did you know she takes it with a bit of Firewhiskey slipped in?"

Dudley laughed, and it was a real laugh that echoed up through his chest, making him feel as though crushing weights he had not even known existed were being lifted from his shoulders. Talking to Parvati was easy, and he desired nothing more than to continue chatting with her and forget his troubles.

Unfortunately, it was at this very moment that Rita Skeeter returned with a pointed, vicious looking quill in hand.

"Come along then," she called, gesturing to a separate room, which Dudley could not help but notice had exactly no windows.

"Hang on," he said, turning back to Parvati. "What time do you get off? Would you like to have dinner with me after?"

Parvati looked stunned by his directness, but she quickly agreed, and her smile was like a protective balm which followed him all the way into Rita Skeeter's interrogation chamber, guarding him against her acid-colored quill, which was twitching through the air in anticipation.

"Now, Dudley," Rita Skeeter began, settling herself at a small desk in front of him and grinning a Chesire cat's grin. "Why don't we begin with something simple? What can you tell me about Harry Potter's attitude as a boy? What was it like growing up with a wizard in the house?"

Dudley thought about Rita Skeeter's letter, the one in which she had casually threatened to expose hi s secrets to Parvati if he did not cooperate. He thought of Parvati standing outside, waiting to go to dinner with him. He thought of Hermione's warning that Rita would not be satisfied until he provided her with plenty of horrible scoop on his cousin. Could he really betray Harry to keep Parvati in the dark? Well, Dudley told himself resolutely, perhaps if he was clever enough he would not have to. Perhaps if he gave Rita Skeeter anecdotes that were interesting enough he would not need to reveal the more horrible, intimate details of Harry's life, like the fact that his parents were dead.

"Harry was always different," Dudley began. "I don't think I understood it back then, but maybe I was always a little jealous of him. I remember once when we went to the reptile house I found out he could talk to snakes. He set a python on the whole zoo, and I was trapped inside its cage. Living with Harry was never boring."

Rita Skeeter's eyes were big as saucers, and her quill was racing against a hovering notepad so fast it was practically a blur. There, Dudley thought with satisfaction. It would all work out.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Next chapter is the wedding, you guys! Sorry for the wait, again, but now that my agent and I have embarked on the arduous process of editing the final draft of my novel, the frequency of updates my drop from now on. I absolutely plan to finish this fic though! Thanks to all reviewers/followers as always. This is a bit sappier than what I usually write, but I felt the development between Parvati and Dudley was needed. Next chapter will have way more action and plot. What am I talking about, anyway? Nobody really reads fanfiction for plot coherency, do they? Anyhow, cheers, lovely readers, and may the ghost of George's ear haunt you if you fail to review... What? Are you suggesting I'm some kind of crazy person? That's... that's just... read the chapter.  
**

**CHAPTER NINE**

"You're invisible and as wild as the sea  
And you hurt what you hold most dear  
You're the traitor, and you are me  
You're the traitor, and I am thee"

-The Traitor (Sea Wolf)

"Finally," Dudley muttered to himself as his phone rang. The number was listed as blocked. He threw a sidelong glance at the counter of the diner where he had taken Parvati, reassured himself that she was still deep in conversation with a server (who seemed rather bewildered by her fascination with the refrigerator box), and answered.

"Dudley?" said the familiar voice of Hermione Granger. Dudley noted that she sounded strained.

"You've been quiet lately," Dudley remarked. "I seriously need to talk to you."

"Sorry," she replied shortly. "I don't think it's wise for you to have my phone number. My fiancé, Ron, he doesn't understand telephones very well and if you rang and he answered our whole plan might be exposed. I want it to be a surprise."

Dudley flapped his hands impatiently before remembering that she could not see him. "Right, well anyway, look, I was staying at the Lucky Cauldron Inn the other night and-"

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Hermione interrupted sharply. "Why? How did you get in? Dudley, you must be careful. That's why I'm calling. There's been a break-in at Hogwarts and Greyback-sorry, I keep forgetting how little you know, Greyback is a werewolf, horrible temperament-anyhow he's suspected. It simply isn't safe for Muggles, or anyone really, to be wandering about wizarding London alone right now."

Dudley's insides had clenched in horror and revulsion at the word _werewolf_, and for a moment he was quite unable to speak.

"I read about it," he said slowly when his voice returned. "In the, er, wizarding newspaper. This werewolf nutter stole a sword, didn't he? Parvati talked to a reporter about it."

Over at the counter Parvati had turned back and was waving at him. Even as his stomach did a pleasant back flip, he awaited Hermione's response with mounting anxiety.

"Yes," Hermione said, and there was something odd in her tone, something almost like a question. It was almost as though she was surprised to hear him speaking so openly about magic. "I've been puzzling over it all day, and I know there's something dodgy about it, but I just can't place it at the moment."

"But at the Leaky Goblin I overheard something in the room next to mine," Dudley went on, ignoring Hermione when she quietly corrected him on the name. "This bloke with a really growly voice was talking about something, some kind of object. It sounded like he'd stolen it." Dudley took a shaky breath, feeling as though he was on the verge of coming unhinged, of imploding under the pressure of all the worries that had plagued him since he had met Parvati. She was returning to the table now, her hair dancing behind her, and Dudley knew that it was all worth it. "The thief said something about... bread?" he went on uncertainly, shaking his head. "No, that wasn't it. Half- _half-breed oaf_, that's what it was! He'd almost been caught by someone called Oaf, I think, at the edge of the grounds. I don't know whether that means anything to you..."

But he trailed away then, because Parvati had sat down across from him at the table with a basket of French fries and was looking expectantly at him. Moreover, Hermione had inhaled sharply.

"But this- this is really important evidence!" Hermione exclaimed, startling Dudley. "Those foul little... I bet they were talking about Hagrid. This changes everything! Dudley, I have to go. Please promise you won't go wandering through Diagon Alley alone anymore."

Dudley opened his mouth to protest but she had already hung up. The fries Parvati had brought over smelled heavenly, and he stuffed five into his mouth at once, regretting his lack of grace a moment later.

"Sorry," he muttered thickly through a mouthful of fries. "I was just talking to a friend."

Parvati's expression twitched into one of guarded amusement for a moment before she reached across the table and took Dudley's hand, quite naturally, as though she did this every day.

"Why did you ask me to dinner, Dudley?" she asked quietly.

A hundred answers presented themselves, but Dudley did not think it would be appropriate at this stage in their relationship to tell her that he could not stop thinking of her every minute of the day, or that even after pretending to lose his memory he had not been able to stay away from her. Grinning in what he hoped would be a winning fashion, he gestured in her direction, as if to say _Well, look at you? How could I not?_ She blushed, and Dudley's stomach performed more acrobatics. It was not at all unpleasant.

"Why did you agree to come out with me?" he asked before the silence could grow uncomfortable. Also, he was genuinely curious.

Parvati smirked. "Oh, you know, I didn't think I could finish all these fries on my own."

Dudley dropped his eyes in embarrassment, but she was laughing once more, and when she looked up her face was much, much closer to his. He could feel her cool breath on his face and nothing else at all registered with him. She smelled like peppermint.

This time it was Dudley who leaned in closer and kissed her, only for a moment, and when she pulled back, flushed and smiling, he felt that he could have run fifty miles, leapt over Big Ben, boxed again- anything.

* * *

The golden days of summer crept up on London quite suddenly that year and Dudley, who had delved into his savings and taken up residence in a modest hotel near Charing Cross Road, felt that the city had never looked so well. Perhaps he had never looked at it properly before, but it seemed to him that the sky had never been such an enchanting, cornflower blue, the buildings never stood so staunch and proud against the horizon, the hustle and bustle of everyday traffic never fell so musically upon his ears. He met Parvati every day when they left work, taking her to movies and to restaurants and to quaint parks bathed in sunlight and filled with the fragrant aroma of cherry blossoms. He took her on outings filled with laughter and stolen kisses and unabashed happiness. As the weeks drew on and the day of Harry's wedding approached Dudley fell into a blissful routine in which he went through his day's work at Grunning's like a sleepwalker, arriving on time and completing his work to his superior's satisfaction, but always leaving at the earliest possible opportunity to spend time with Parvati. Meetings with his father in the corridors at work were tense, but Dudley was beyond caring about the dark looks and angry mutterings Vernon levelled at him whenever they came within sight of one another. And though Dudley stayed well away from the Lurky Cauldron, talking mirrors, boxing gnomes, and all manner of disturbing magical intrusions into his peaceful existence, he no longer even cringed at the mention of the words _witch_ or _wizard_.

It was not until the eve of the wedding that grim tidings arrived to mar his bubble of contentment in the form of a particularly disheveled Hermione Granger knocking at his door.

"Oh," said Dudley with an ill-disguised lack of enthusiasm when he saw her standing on his doorstep holding a gold embroidered envelope in one hand and a bag of heavy looking, leather-bound books in the other.

"Don't look so happy to see me," she said with a weak smile, entering his room without invitation and setting her bag down on the table with a thud. She handed him the letter. "This is for you, from Harry. I told him I'd help out by owling it but since I'm here..."

"Why are you here?" Dudley asked a little more rudely than he had intended. Hastily he added, "Er, can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thank you, I don't have a lot of time."

"Good, because I don't have anything to drink."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Open the envelope."

Dudley ripped it open to reveal a square piece of that animal hide colored paper bearing a simple, friendly invitation to the wedding of Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley. Ginevra? Wasn't that some kind of vodka, Dudley wondered wildly?

"I've sent out about three hundred more of those," Hermione elaborated. "Harry wanted to keep it small but Molly-Ginny's mother-got involved and sort of ran with it. It's going to be a huge event."

Dudley merely stared at her, uncomprehending.

"It would be the perfect opportunity to try something against Harry, wouldn't it?" Hermione continued, as though stating a truth more self-evident than two plus two being equal to four.

Dudley felt that he was missing something that was staring him right in the face, but could not for the life of him tell what it might be. To avoid having to look at her and give away his ignorance, he pinned the invitation to Harry's wedding to the refrigerator next to a small note Parvati had sent him by owl, detailing the time of their next meeting. The note smelled faintly of peppermint, like her hair, and Dudley smiled.

"The sword!" Hermione exclaimed, startling Dudley back to reality. "It's too much of coincidence that the sword would be stolen from Hogwarts so close to Harry's wedding."

Dudley did not wish to admit that he had hardly given the sword a moment's thought since his phone call with Hermione over a fortnight ago. He nodded sagely, hoping that this would suffice.

Hermione did not look as though she had been fooled, but said, "Of course the security at the wedding will be stringent, and I can't really imagine anyone getting past the Aurors. Still, I'd like to discuss assigning you a personal security detail."

Dudley tried to imagine enjoying himself with Parvati at the wedding while flanked by cloaked, wand-wielding guards, and grimaced.

"Couldn't I just, you know, not draw attention to myself?" he asked hopefully.

"You'll be the only Muggle at the wedding of the most famous wizard of this generation," Hermione replied. "You'd be conspicuous even if you hid beneath a table all night." Seeing his pained expression she added, "Don't worry, you won't even notice the security arrangements I've made. My housekeeper Winky has been, well, not unhappy, but a little restless lately. She feels I pay her too much and allow her far too many days off. She's been asking me for more involved tasks for months, and I think this would be an adequate assignment. She'll tail you from afar."

"What about... er... Well Harry, won't he need protection more than I will?"

"He'll have it. A whole detachment of Aurors. No one will get to Harry if I have anything to say about it. Besides, if anyone can take care of themselves, he can."

Dudley paused for a moment, then voiced the question that had been nagging at him for some weeks now.

"What did he do?" he asked. "Harry. Why is he so famous? What happened while I was in hiding?"

"You really don't know," said Hermione wonderingly, and Dudley felt his cheeks flush uncomfortably. "He defeated the most powerful dark wizard of all time."

The tone of her explanation put Dudley in mind of the epic legends of the kings and queens and brave knights that populated many of his favorite video games. It was strange, but also somehow fitting, to hear Harry spoken of this way.

"You've made real progress, you know," Hermione remarked to his surprise. "You're much more open-minded than you were when we met. And your tip about the thief at the Leaky Cauldron was invaluable. I knew I was right to reach out to you."

Before Dudley could do more than feel confused and slightly pleased, there was another knock at the door. Hermione jumped to her feet and seized her teetering stack of books as Dudley strode to the door and opened it. Parvati beamed at him, though her smile faltered a little when she caught sight of Hermione standing by the television set.

"Hi Parvati!" said Hermione brightly, exiting the room and nodding a goodbye to Dudley. "Lovely to see you again."

"Yes, you too," said Parvati, clearly bewildered.

"She was bringing me an invitation to Harry's wedding," Dudley explained once Hermione had left, gesturing in the direction of the refrigerator. Parvati walked around the table to examine it, and her face broke into a heartwarming smile when her gaze fell upon her note pinned next to the invitation. She was wearing an apple-green overcoat in place of her usual robes, with pale stockings that matched the color of the shimmering ribbons in her hair. Dudley's heart ached just to look at her.

"You should wear that to the wedding tomorrow," he said in an oddly constricted voice, unable, all at once, to move a single inch away from the door.

"Oh, I don't think that would be at all proper," Parvati replied with a mischievous grin. Yet something was clouding her expression, some serious, stormy shadow that erased the light from her eyes, and when she looked him full in the face her lip quivered. Dudley wanted to ask her what was wrong, but some blockage in his throat prevented him from doing so.

"I really like you, Dudley," she began, though she remained on the other side of the table. "And it's because I like you that I don't think I can go on without telling you something about myself. Then you can... can decide if you still want to be with me. Once you've heard."

Dudley's eyes were wide, but he managed a stiff nod, his mind screaming, positively _howling_ at him that she was talking about not seeing him anymore. That she was talking madness.

Parvati's voice was tremulous as she launched into her monologue. "A few years ago, after the war ended, everyone in our- in the wizarding community was sort of adrift, you know, rebuilding every part of our world that had been destroyed. There was this kind of euphoria that You-Know-Who was finally gone. And I got caught up in it. I helped rebuild Hogwarts over the summer, and I met this boy there, Michael Corner. We had gone to school together and he was going out with someone I knew, but I was... different then. I didn't really care; we started seeing each other, and I'm not proud of the way she found out, and how I convinced him to ditch her after."

Her eyes sought his, implored him to understand, but still Dudley could not bring himself to move, afraid of what she might say.

"Then he died," she pressed on. She stated it baldly, but there was pain in her voice. "It was a slow-acting curse, one of the Carrows did it, we think, and he seemed well at first but after about a year his body just began to fail and he- he wasted away." A tear was gliding down her cheek now, but she continued to speak. "I felt so, so guilty about splitting him up with Cho-that was his girlfriend, before-and I couldn't stand it. I felt like I had cheated them of their time together, or something. I can't even be sure anymore, it's all such a blur. So I went to him just as he was about to die, and I begged him not to leave me. I was quite irrational. But I suppose he took me at my word, because he chose not to go on. He chose to stay."

"But I thought-" Dudley began, finding his voice at last. "He- he didn't-?"

"Oh, he passed away," Parvati clarified. "But he came back. He came back as a ghost, you see, and I don't know if it was the curse that did it but he was a little addled. Still sweet and- and charming and all that, but also a little lost. He mostly stays around Hogwarts nowadays but once in a while he..." her lips trembled again and for a moment she seemed unable to go on. "Well, he pops in on me, you see. He doesn't mean any harm, but he shows up unannounced at my flat or when I'm at work, and sometimes he just watches me, but sometimes I don't think he knows he's dead. I haven't been able to go out with anyone since then. Anyone who was a wizard, I mean, and who spent time at the Ministry and all that, because he... Michael always found out, and he scared them all away. He couldn't_ hurt_ them, of course, but I suppose they thought it was too much trouble, seeing a girl who was haunted. I thought of asking the Ministry to issue an official order of restraint, but I couldn't do that to him. I'm- Well, I wish so badly that I could take it back. Take it all back."

She finished her story at last, her gaze trained on her feet, her hands wringing together nervously, and Dudley gaped at her. He wondered if she had told anyone about this before, whether she had carried the burden of the misdeeds of her youth which paled in comparison with his own, for all this time. He thought perhaps that he ought to sympathize with her, to discuss her emotions as he heard all women liked men to do. But in those first few moments all he could think was... _Is that all?_

"So let me get this straight," said Dudley in a voice as even, as expressionless as he could make it, and Parvati looked up at him, frightened. "You actually thought that that would be enough to get rid of me?"

For a second she stared, uncomprehending, and then her jaw slackened in the most charmingly astonished way, so that she looked shocked and grateful and bemused all at once.

"Are you _sure_?" she breathed. "You're sure you don't care?"

"I used to stuff Harry Potter's head down the toilet when we were nine," Dudley replied with a little shrug. "Once he adopted a stray cat and kept it in the hollow of a tree and brought it scraps from the dinner table, and I threw rocks at it and chased it away, just for fun. I punched him in the nose so often it looked like he was wearing a monocle instead of glasses half the time."

Parvati looked caught between horror and a strong desire to giggle.

"I always wondered why someone so famous would arrive at Hogwarts looking so twitchy and underfed," she settled on, and the tension was broken. Where mere minutes ago Dudley had been covered in a cold sweat, he now felt warm from head to toe, and Parvati reached up to undo the top button of her coat.

The door to the hotel corridor was still open, Dudley realized in a disjointed sort of way, but he could not pry his eyes away from her fingers as, slowly, she undid two more buttons, until the coat fell away entirely to reveal an absolutely outrageous dress that could really not be called a dress at all. There was hardly anything to it. Dudley's legs had suddenly turned to jelly.

"Do you like it?" Parvati asked shyly, turning this way and that to show him the full effect of the glittering fabric. His stomach and arms and head must surely be turning to jelly too. "You do! I'm afraid I really mustn't wear it to the wedding like you suggested, though. The color would clash horribly with your cravat."

Before his courage could desert him, Dudley mutely closed the distance between them, closing the door behind him.

* * *

**A/N: *insert cheesy sexytimes music* Look, I'll level with you... I hope nobody was expecting anything more descriptive in the way of romance/snogging/etc. I just can't bring myself to do it. If you're looking for something in that vein you might try my other fic Requirement (shameless self-promotionnnnn!), but even that is nowhere near, you know, smut, or whatever. I just... I can't do it, I can't. You'll have to forgive me. Have some cookies. There, all's good, yes?**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Ninja fast updating, right? I know, I'm awesome, but you can feel free to tell me anyway. And I swear, it might seem like I'm just throwing in random cameo appearances by minor characters, but there's a method to my madness, you'll see. Please don't hate me at the end of this chapter, guys. Also, if you do, please feel free to tell me about it in the reviews. That, or your favorite ice cream flavor, or your opinion on climate change. My whole neighborhood has been roped off by the police and I'm stuck inside and bloody bored... Cheers!  
**

**CHAPTER TEN**

Harry Potter checked the time on the battered watch that had been Fabian Prewett's, drumming his fingers restlessly on the gold cover. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. One o'clock, on the day of his wedding. He kept expecting the pre-wedding jitters, the cold feet, the anxiety and nagging doubts that many members of the Auror office had warned him about. Instead he felt nothing but calm, blissful certainty. A sense of impermeable rightness.

Harry turned to face the drawing room mirror to straighten his dress robes and saw the door creak open behind him.

"I told you, Ron," he began before he could see who it was, "your mum will skin us alive if I let you read your best man's speech the way you wrote it. Just let Hermione edit out the last bit, for Merlin's sake."

But he stopped short, because it was not Ron. Instead the most unlikely pair of guests imaginable walked into his drawing room, the first rather stiffly, the second looking cautiously amused.

"_Dudley?_" Harry exclaimed. "Hermione? What is this?"

"You, er, invited me," Dudley said with a brave attempt at a smile. Harry gaped at him, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Winky was meant to be tailing him, just as a precaution, Harry," she said. "But Ron stole her away to cook up some lunch. Do you know where he is?"

"I- But-" Harry found his voice at last. "I never thought you would actually show up! No offense, Big D." He looked from Hermione to Dudley and back, taking in the mischievous twinkle in his friend's eye. It was a look he knew well. "You had something to do with this, didn't you? How did you pull it off?"

"Have a little faith, Harry," Hermione replied. "Dudley here just wanted to see you. Don't you think you ought to greet him properly?"

Mastering the powerful instinct to flee from his cousin's presence, born out of years of enthusiastic mutual dislike, Harry strode forward and extended his hand. Dudley shook it, looking relieved.

"Molly will have saved a seat for you just in case with the rest of the Weasleys, as the front table was for family," Harry told him. As his cousin turned to leave he added, "And, er, thanks, Dudley. You know, for coming. I didn't- well, thanks."

As soon as the door closed behind Dudley, Harry rounded on Hermione.

"What did you promise him?" he demanded.

Hermione flushed pink, and became abruptly absorbed in the fingernails of her left hand.

* * *

Dudley stood at the center of a handsome house decorated in the tasteful, if eclectic style he had come to recognize as characteristic of the wizarding community, taking in a scene which would have terrorized him as little as a month ago. Men in dresses, owls carrying letters, dozens of strange folks all with identical ginger hair, flying trays of hors-d'oeuvres, all flitted from room to room causing a cacophony that seemed to disturb no one. The portraits on the walls moved from frame to frame like film characters, chatting animatedly about the impeding nuptials of their master. Dudley approached one of the portraits and saw that it carried the likeness of a ragged looking man with long dark hair who bore the vestiges of great good looks worn away by the bitter passage of time. A caption beneath the frame read _Sirius Black: 1959-1996._ Odd, Dudley mused, he had always thought the proper spelling of the word was _serious._

"You look lost," the man in the portrait commented. "Come to see my godson's wedding?"

"Your- Harry's your godson?" Dudley asked, startled.

"D'you know, most strangers come in here with notepads and cameras, asking all about Harry and Azkaban and other nonsense," the man called Black replied. "Who are you?"

"Dudley Dursley."

"Good Godric, really? That's too good," Black laughed.

"Er, how is that?" said Dudley.

"I met Vernon and Petunia Dursley once. Dreadful people. Never would have thought I'd see a Dursley in a magical home."

Dudley's brow furrowed at the slight on his family, but before he could retort a loud disturbance coming from the upper landing caused both man and portrait to look up in alarm. Immediately Black leapt to the side, bounding through adjacent portraits until he was headed upstairs out of sight. Dudley gaped impotently at the wall without moving. Often events in the magical world still moved too quickly for his crowded mind to process them. In any case, Black was already returning.

"A ghost frightened some house elves upstairs," he threw in Dudley's direction before flitting through more portraits towards the drawing room. "Have to go warn the groom. Nice to meet you, Durlsey."

Dudley marveled for a moment at the fact that he had just had an entire conversation with a portrait without any reference to the strangeness of the situation. Then he made his way out to the backyard to look for Parvati under the enormous marquee that covered the reception area. He had offered to take a train to Godric's Hollow with her, but she had refused owing to the need to accompany her stepfather to Harry's house, as the elderly man disliked Apparting on his own. Several more laughing red-haired individuals were already seated on spindly golden folding chairs in the front row near a raised dais, but Dudley spotted Parvati several rows back, helping her family into their places. Her eyes lit up when they found his, and she followed him to the front where chairs labeled "Dudley Dursley and Guest" had been reserved in the middle of the row.

"Parvati," one of the red-haired men nearby greeted them politely as they sat down. "And... Blimey, is that Dudley Dursley?"

Dudley realized, too late, that this was one of the twin gits who had fed him tongue-mutating toffee when he was fourteen. What was more, when the man turned to face them full on, Dudley saw that he was missing an ear. A gruesome, gaping scar was all that remained on the side of his head where the appendage should have been, and it was all Dudley could do not to gag.

"Hi George!" Parvati greeted the man, beaming. "Dudley is here as my date. How are things?"

George eyed Dudley strangely but engaged Parvati in conversation, leaving Dudley free to observe his surroundings to asses them for potential threats. Several more early guests were beginning to file in through the garden. Dudley saw a woman with greying hair and an eye patch; an extremely short man with long, knobbly fingers and unnaturally dark eyes who looked suspiciously like a goblin; a woman with a pale face and bubblegum pink hair; and finally, a round-faced young man with protuberant ears carrying a bulky package under his arm and looking mutinous. The latter stalked through the rows looking all around him, though it appeared that he did not find what he was looking for. Just as the man turned on his heel, Parvati exclaimed loudly over the arrival of a new member to their party.

"Hi Ron!"

The man called Ron dropped into the chair next to Dudley without looking at him and pressed his palms to his temples dramatically. Dudley vaguely recognized him as a friend of Harry's, too.

"Parvati, nice to see you again," he muttered. Then, turning to George, he said, "Merlin, I'm hungry. Hermione's been hounding me to change my best man's speech all day. She's not here, is she?"

"No," George replied. "Haven't you just been off with Winky for a late lunch, you prat?"

Ron shook his head. "Couldn't find her. Looked everywhere- What?" he added, for George had nudged him and gestured towards Dudley. "Whoa, Dudley Dursley? What are you doing here?"

Dudley, who was growing tired of this constant refrain, was prevented from snapping that the last time he had checked he was invited only because his eyes kept wandering back to the horrible sight of George's missing ear.

"Dashing, isn't it?" George said, noticing his interest.

"That's not- I wasn't..." Dudley flushed in embarrassment. "I just would have thought you could have fixed something like that with, er, with magic."

"No magic can reawaken the dead," Ron told Dudley, while George looked suddenly bitter. "You can mend a recent injury in a trice, but once cells have died and your body's healed over there's nothing to be done. Why do you think Harry's always worn glasses instead of just fixing his eyes with magic?"

Dudley felt a chill go over him at these words, though he could not at first identify its cause. Then, as his mind ground into motion and Ron's explanation reverberated in his ears, he jumped to his feet, his fists clenching and unclenching.

"What is it?" Parvati asked, looking concerned.

"Going to the loo," Dudley said through gritted teeth, practically sprinting away without a backwards glance. He threw open the back door to the house and thundered from room to room until he found her: Hermione was sitting in one of a cluster of high-backed armchairs by the fireplace in the library with the round-faced man Dudley had spotted earlier, poring over a book with an acid green cover. She was scowling, but, Dudley reflected, this was as nothing to how she would look once he was through with her.

"So!" he nearly shouted, startling Hermione and her friend, who dropped the book onto the floor.

"This really isn't a good time-" Hermione began, but Dudley ignored her.

"I'm curious," he spat at her, "how were you going to mend my shoulder once this wedding was over? You know, what kind of spell, _exactly?_"

Her face grew paler by a fraction, though she did not look nearly as disturbed as Dudley felt the situation required. Bravely, she stood so that they faced one another, and the truth was written plainly in her eyes.

"Er..." the man with the book began, but Hermione held up a hand to silence him.

"You found out," she said, and it was not a question.

"You were never planning on healing me," Dudley said in a hollow voice. "Because you can't."

She gave an apologetic nod.

Dudley pointed an accusatory finger at her. "You tricked me!"

"I _am_ sorry for deceiving you," Hermione said. "But it's a matter of perspective. In just a few short months you've allowed Harry, one of your family, back into your life. You've started seeing Parvati. You're standing up for yourself for the first time in your life. I prefer to think I lent you a much needed helping hand. Can you honestly say you would have allowed any of these changes in your life if you didn't think there was something in it for you? That I wouldn't heal you?"

Dudley heartily wanted to respond with a defiant "Yes," but in all honesty he was not certain that it would be true.

"This is all very interesting," said a voice from behind one of the high-backed armchairs, the last voice Dudley wanted to hear just then. Harry emerged from behind the chair and came to stand at Hermione's side, his eyes boring into Dudley's with frightful intensity. Not for the first time Dudley fully appreciated that this could be the man other witches and wizards spoke of with awe, with reverence and a little fear.

"So that's why you agreed to come," Harry continued, his tone light. "I knew you must have promised him something, Hermione."

"I didn't just..." Dudley gulped. "I wanted to see you."

"To see me?" Harry repeated. "Or to see the results of your work?"

"What?" Dudley stared at his cousin, bewildered.

Harry pointed at the floor by way of response, and Dudley's eyes fell upon the book which the round-faced man had dropped. It was open at a page bearing a moving photograph of what appeared to be a fifteen year old Harry sitting in a dark courtroom.

"Neville brought this to our attention just now," Hermione explained as Dudley picked up the book and examined the cover, which bore the title _Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lied_. "Rita Skeeter's new book. It came out this morning, the date being no coincidence, I'm sure. Your interview is featured quite extensively."

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Dudley rifled through the pages until he came to an early chapter, the first page of which detailed a young Harry's "scandalous" and "possibly evilly motivated" attack on his cousin at the reptile house using a fully grown python. Skeeter had made it sound as though Harry had been trying to fatally harm Dudley. His mouth had gone dry, his throat working mutely to form some sort of explanation. But anything he could come up with would sound hollow, empty.

"I told Harry Rita blackmailed you," Hermione added hastily. "No doubt you had no idea what she would make of the stories you gave her."

It was the truth, Dudley knew, but still Harry looked impassible and said nothing. Would the truth be enough to convince Harry in the face of Dudley's revelation that he had only shown up at the wedding to achieve his own ends?

In his distress Dudley did not hear the footsteps echoing out in the hallway as he attempted to explain, "She's right, I didn't know. I mean, I never thought Rita Skeeter would twist up everything I said. I was trying to help, I didn't say a thing about your personal life, you know, about your parents and all that. I only talked to her in the first place because she said if I didn't she would tell Parvati that I hadn't really been obliminated. I had no choice."

Dudley stopped then, because an odd tension had filled the room and he could not understand why. He also did not understand why the third man, Neville, looked so uncomfortable, or why Hermione cringed. But when he turned to glance self-consciously behind him and see the origin of their discomfort, his heart plummeted right out of his chest and far, far into the ground.

Parvati, perhaps wondering why Dudley had failed to return from the bathroom, had followed him to the library and was standing still as a statue, staring at Dudley with tears shining in her eyes.

"Oh!" Dudley gulped, reaching feebly in her direction, but Parvati shook her head and stumbled back, exiting the library with her eyes still fixed on his. He thought that he had never seen such shock or betrayal in anyone's face as he did just then, and with a great effort he forced his body into motion, chasing after her down the hall, but it was too late. Parvati had already made it out the back door and he saw through a window as she ran to a point just beyond the backyard and disappeared into thin air.

"Damn, damn, _damn!_" Dudley shouted at the empty hallway, punching out at a wall and realizing a moment too late that it was made of stone rather than plaster. The pain in his fist blinded him temporarily, so he stumbled into the nearest room and fell into the first chair he found, suddenly weary beyond belief and unable to summon the energy even to rage at his surroundings.

He wanted to shake himself, crush himself into a pulp. He wanted to take it all back and start over from the day he had first met Parvati at Grunnings. He wanted to disappear from this house, from under his cousin's judgment and the disappointment in his eyes. To be anywhere else, anywhere at all, would be bliss.

Opening his eyes, Dudley saw that he was in a small study, and further that there was a fireplace in the corner. A glass jar filled with emerald powder sat atop the mantelpiece, and Dudley was struck by sudden inspiration. He had seen this powder used before, on the day of the tongue-mutating toffee. Every detail of that horrible experience was etched permanently in his memory, much as he wished he could erase it all, and so he knew that the powder could be used to transport people to the destination of their choice.

Recklessly, Dudley walked to the fireplace and seized a handful of the powder. He flinched a little when he threw the powder into the grate and it burst into seven foot tall green flames, but the stress and anxiety of the day had numbed him enough that he was able to shrug and step into the fire. The swirling ash choked him and stung at his eyes, so that he was momentarily confused and said the first thing that came into his head.

"Charing Cross Road!"

Through a mouthful of ash it sounded more like a series of garbled swear words, and as Dudley began to spin uncontrollably he wondered whether he had failed. Perhaps he had insulted the fireplace and it was now trying to kill him. But just as soon as it had begun the swirling stopped and Dudley was thrown unceremoniously onto a cold stone floor, spluttering and dizzy and covered in ash.

There was a scream and Dudley hastened to right himself and brush the soot off his clothes. In a day already filled to the brim with unpleasant surprises, Dudley received yet another shock when he looked around and saw that he was nowhere near Charing Cross Road. Instead, he was standing in a dingy barroom filled with only a handful of patrons. Through the one grimy window he could see that the ground outside was covered with a fine layer of snow like powdered sugar. Where in the world had he landed himself now?

"S- Sorry," he stammered, looking around at the patrons and the glowering barman. "Got, er, lost."

"Butterbeer?" the barman grunted. Dudley had no idea what this could mean, but nodded hastily.

The little old woman who had screamed when Dudley had made his entrance sat down, appeased, and Dudley could think of nothing else to do besides sit down. It was indeed a tremendous relief to find himself far away from his troubles, and he was not eager to leave this safe haven, gloomy as it might be. He dropped into a free chair next to a surly looking blond man at the bar and continued to shake ash out of his hair until the barman returned with a dusty bottle of some warm liquid Dudley did not recognize.

There was a little wizard gold in his pocket, which Parvati had exchanged against muggle money at a wizarding bank called Grim-bots for him earlier that week in case he should need it in some emergency. This he passed to the barman without counting out the exact change, so that the man's eyes widened in surprise and he looked fractionally less irritable as he walked away. Dudley proceeded to examine the bottle with a suspicious eye, turning it this way and that without opening it. The blond man next to him, who had been throwing him cold sidelong glances, snorted.

"Dim, are you?" he drawled. "It's just butterbeer."

Parvati had mentioned butterbeer, once, but the thought of anything to do with Parvati was too painful at the moment and Dudley had no wish to recall what she had said. Cautiously, he pulled out the cork and took a swig from the bottle. The liquid inside was delightful, warming him and seeming to soothe away a small portion of his troubles. Dudley nodded to the blond man and noticed the same acid green book Hermione had held in the library sitting on the bar next to him with a note lying on top of it. He read the note surreptitiously.

_Draco. Remember the good old days of the Tri-Wizard tournament? Thought you might like a sneak peek at my new masterpiece. Send an owl my way if you've reconsidered my offer. Cheers, Rita._

"D'you mind if I have a look at this?" Dudley asked.

The blond man shrugged, continuing to stare moodily at a patch of dusty counter and nursing his drink, and Dudley picked up his copy of _Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lied_, setting aside the note. He flipped to the table of contents and examined the chapters in order, his dismay growing with each line.

_Chapter Three – Childhood: The Fugues and Fatal Mistakes (HOW did ten year old Harry Potter, supposed defender of Muggles, engineer a deadly python attack upon his hapless cousin?)_

_Chapter Five – Hogwarts: The Parselmouth In the Grass (WHY was no Ministry investigation ever launched over the petrification of half a dozen of Potter's classmates, for which he was the prime suspect?)_

_Chapter Eleven – Horcruxes: (WHEN was Harry Potter planning to reveal to the wizarding community that he carried within himself a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul?)_

_Chapter Sixteen – Hermione Granger: (WHAT exactly happened between Potter and ex-girlfriend Granger during the many months of 1998 when Ronald Weasley traveled to Paris to assist his brother in expanding a line of joke shops?)_

Dudley gaped at the last line, aghast and somewhat impressed, before remembering that Rita Skeeter had likely invented the whole thing and Harry had never had an affair with Hermione. He would never, ever speak to this Skeeter woman again, no matter what form of blackmail she employed. This brought to mind the note addressed to the blond man presumably called Draco.

"Listen, mate, you should know about this Skeeter woman," he began in his most helpful tone. "If she's writing you notes and all, it can't be good. She'll twist everything you say."

The man turned slowly to face him, his eyes traveling over Dudley's scuffed blue jeans and the formal black jacket he had donned for the wedding. Dudley could not tell whether it was the blatant Muggle-ness of his apparel or the fact that he was covered in soot that caused the man to sneer at him and turn away, tapping the counter and calling, "Aberforth, another bourbon. Neat." It was not until the blond man had drained half of his new glass that he looked at Dudley again. "I don't know who you are, _mate_, but I have an idea you don't know much of anything yourself, so shove it."

A sneaking suspicion connected the man's hostility with the words _Remember the good old days?_ in Rita Skeeter's handwriting in Dudley's mind, and he frowned at the blond man.

"What does she mean, anyway, about reconsidering her offer?" Dudley asked aggressively, glorying in the familiar feeling of venting his frustrations on someone else. He did not stop to consider the fact that he was the only one in the pub who did not have a magic wand. "Did you help Skeeter write this muck about Harry?"

The blond man sighed heavily and pressed a fist to his temple as if praying for patience.

"Dimwitted indeed," he said. "Try and apply your tiny brain to the situation at hand, whoever you are, and think about the question you just asked. Would Skeeter have asked me to _reconsider_ her offer to help her write the book if I hadn't first _refused_ it?"

"Oh." Dudley pondered this for a moment and then looked down, embarrassed. The blond man was already calling for another drink.

"Do you know Harry well, then?" Dudley ventured. It was plain that this man had no wish to converse with him, but Dudley wondered whether with a little help from one of Harry's potential friends he might not be able to get back in his cousin's good graces. Now that his initial panic was beginning to fade away, Dudley realized that he wanted to go back, wanted very much to return to Harry's wedding, because... Because there was something he badly needed to do.

The pieces were falling into place now. Dudley could not stop the memories from crowding in: the first time he had met Parvati and the nightmarish week when he had not been speaking to her, and had ended up at the Leaky Carton Inn with the voices coming through the walls of his room; the day she had come to his room in her apple-green coat and told him of the ghost that haunted her; the portrait at Harry's house this morning and the disturbance of house elves and ghosts it had reported; Harry's friend Ron's insistence that he had not seen any house elf. Hermione Granger would have known what it all meant. Dudley was not a great thinker, he had never done well in school or even excelled at his work. But Dudley had changed these past few years since he had come out of hiding, and he had changed even more since meeting Parvati. He was no longer the slow-witted, pampered boy clinging to his mother's skirts. And all of a sudden, he knew what it all meant, too.

The blond man scowled at Dudley's renewed interruption. "It's always about precious Scarhead Potter, isn't it?"

"Er..."

"Yeah I knew Potter," the man snapped. "What's it to you?"

"I was at his wedding, and I sort of need to get back there as soon as possible, but I don't have any more of that Floo powder stuff," Dudley explained.

The blond man looked at him as though he were a particularly dense toddler.

"So Apparate," he said. "The sooner the better, so I won't have to, you know, talk to you anymore."

"I, er, don't know how," Dudley muttered, flushing furiously. Was it customary for all wizards to know how to vanish and reappear? Had he just blown his cover as a Muggle?

"Shame," the blond man drawled, not sounding as though he cared much one way or another.

"Look, he might be in danger!" Dudley exclaimed, losing patience as the man ordered yet another drink. "There's this thing with a sword and a werewolf and ghosts and elves and... Forget it, I'll _walk_ back to Godric's Hollow if I have to. Bloody hell, aren't you lot supposed to _care_ about Harry, with him being all famous or something?"

The man's head had snapped up at the mention of a werewolf, and though he scowled at Dudley his eyes were suddenly alert. He rose, still remarkably steady on his feet, and threw a handful of gold carelessly onto the counter.

"You must be the Muggle cousin," he said, not without a small smirk.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"If you ever tell anyone what I'm about to do, I will _find_ you, I will _hex_ you into a pile of mouldering jelly, and then I will magic you back to yourself just so I can hex you _again_, got that?"

Dudley gazed apprehensively into the blond man's snarling face, noting that his hand was fisted in the pocket of his robes where his wand was likely hidden.

"Why?" was all Dudley could think to say.

"Potter saved my life," the man said, and it seemed he was talking mostly to himself. "But there are bloody_ limits_. Go outside, now."

In the face of the man's newfound attitude it did not occur to Dudley to disobey, so he hurried out of the pub into the chilly air of the quaint village street outside. The man followed him and they stood side by side for a moment in the snow, with Dudley wondering what he was about to get himself into now.

"Well, _hold on_," the man snapped, rolling his eyes. "I'm not going to go with you into the Chosen Wedding, but I can take you by side-along."

Understanding that the man meant to disappear into thin air with him as Rita Skeeter had done, and he reached out to grip the man's left forearm.

"_Not_ that one," the man hissed, suddenly furious, and Dudley recoiled. "And don't touch my hand, either, I'd never be able to wash off the filth."

Dudley might have bristled at the obvious insult, but he had more pressing matters on his mind, so he merely gripped the man's shoulder and stepped for the third time in his life into the paralyzing, horrifying sensation of Apparition. He did not even scream or vomit.

The outline of Harry's house appeared before him at the end of the street a moment later, and he felt his feet hit firm ground. Dudley let go of the blond man's shoulder at once and muttered a quick "Thanks."

"You had better do your job and go take care of this wolf threat, or whatever," was the man's response, and Dudley turned away, already dreading his return to the house. Before he could leave, however, the man added, "Listen." He spoke quickly, and it sounded as though he were choosing his words with great care. "If this is something to do with a werewolf and a sword, then according to the _Prophet_ odds are Greyback will be involved."

"Fenrir Greyback?" said Dudley. "That's what Hermione thought."

"Granger?" said the man, and though the name sounded faintly distasteful to him he shrugged. "Of course if anyone was going to figure it all out it would be Granger. Anyway, most people outside of a certain... circle don't know this, but Greyback is allergic to snidgets, so if you need to subdue him, that's the way to go. He wouldn't see it coming."

"I- Wow, thanks!" Dudley exclaimed, heartened by this secret weapon. "Thank you, really."

"Save it," the man retorted, already turning away. "And remember, not a word."

He vanished with a _pop_ before Dudley could say anything more. Perhaps it was a side-effect from all the magic, but Dudley felt at once as though he had been doused in cold water, and through the bright sunlight a haze passed over his vision. He thought he could see the faint outline of a man shimmer a little ways ahead on the road.

"Hello?" Dudley called.

Without warning, a crushing blow hit Dudley in the back of the head, and he crumpled, unconscious.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, I know I'm cruel. And by the way, I know it might seem odd to have Draco hanging out in the pub of the man who's brother he tried to kill, but it felt it was fitting somehow. Like maybe Aberforth would see something of himself in Draco, the perpetual screw-up, and take pity on him without letting it show...**


	11. Chapter 11

**I had the toughest time writing this chapter for some reason. I think I've managed to do everything I meant to with it, but it took a while. I'd love to hear what you thought worked or didn't, if it was all clear, if you think I'm secretly a monkey on acid who managed to get a computer. Sorry it's all been a little dark lately, but the grim stuff is almost over. And there will be one more chapter after this, then a short epilogue. Enjoy, lovelies!  
**

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

A small, bat-eared house elf sat curled on the floor of a vacant upstairs bedroom in the Potter house, rocking back and forth and quietly sobbing. A man stood over her, gazing down without pity, and as her sobbing increased he delivered a swift kick to her shins, eliciting a high-pitched squeal of pain.

"Shut it," the man grunted, and he began to pace back and forth impatiently, throwing the elf a dark look each time he changed direction.

"Winky is a good elf," the sobbing creature squealed. "Winky will not betray her Mistress. Winky is wanting to leave. Please sir, please let Winky leave!"

"I said shut it!" the man roared, descending upon her looking thunderous.

The bedroom door burst open and a second man, much taller with a scarred face and filthy, pointed teeth, stalked in.

"What the hell are you yelling about, Scabior?" he growled, stepping towards the first man and causing him to retreat several steps. "You'll have half the house come running in a minute. Not even casting a bloody silencing charm..."

"The bleedin' elf's driving me barmy, Greyback."

"Then go help Carrow with the other prisoner. Go on, out!"

When the first man scuttled out of the room, Greyback turned his malevolent gaze upon Winky.

"Didn't think anyone'd find your old Master, did you, elf?" he said, crouching down next to her and leering.

The elf's eyes filled with fresh tears. "Winky is thinking that you is very wicked for stealing Master Barty from Saint Mungo's. Very wicked!"

"I reckon you're right, elf, and it'll serve me well. Learned a few tricks from the Dark Lord before he passed, see. It's not only dead bodies what can be turned to Inferi, did you know that? Those who've suffered the Demetor's Kiss, they can be turned too. That's where you come in."

"Winky is bound by magic to still obey the orders of her old Master while Barty Crouch Junior lives," said the elf. "But Winky will never betray her Mistress."

"QUIET!" Greyback shouted, suddenly rancorous, and he struck Winky across the face, sending her into renewed bursts of tears. "You'll do as you're told, elf, and you'll do it quietly, or I might be deciding to use your bones to pit my teeth. I could do with an appetizer. Oh, there you are, Corner."

A ghost had just floated in through the wall. Even with the pearly sheen of his complexion one could tell that he had died sallow-skinned and gaunt. His eyes had a faraway look as though he was not really sure where he was, or even who he was, and his hands twisted together convulsively every few seconds. He seemed terrified both of Greyback and of the wailing elf on the floor.

"I expect the Carrows were happy to see you again?" Greyback inquired, an evil note in his voice.

The ghost of Michael Corner jumped at the sound of his voice, and cowered a little against the wall.

"Did you take care of the Muggle?" Greyback went on.

Michael Corner gave a small nod.

"Good. I'll go look after the sword, and I'll send Crouch in here after me. He'll be bewitched to follow orders, so you just tell him not to let the elf get away. We needed her to get in past security and we'll need her to get out. After that you can point out your pretty little girlfriend. I'm feeling peckish."

With a lunatic laugh Greyback exited, leaving the tormented ghost and the terrified elf behind to gaze at one another in despair. Deep in the heart of the ghost's eyes, something flickered.

* * *

Dudley was still lying on the road near Harry's house with his cheek pressed against the gravel when he regained consciousness. He experienced the momentary vertigo that always accompanied waking in an unfamiliar place, then groaned as he remembered why he was there and why his head felt as if it was about to split open.

A cackle behind him caused Dudley to sit up and take in the ugly sight of his two short, stout captors standing side by side like a pair of malicious manatees.

"You don't look so good, ugly," said the woman on the left. On the right, the man who was undoubtedly her brother danced a little with glee. "'Spect you'll look even worse when we're finished with you, eh?"

"Go to hell," Dudley grunted, clutching at his throbbing head.

The woman struck out at him with a small knife, suddenly, unexpectedly, leaving a shallow but painful cut against his cheek.

"What's that? Eh, dirt-veins?" the man jeered. "Not so high and mighty now, are yeh? Filthy Muggle."

"Why are you wasting time here? You'd better take me inside to your leader, don't you think?" Dudley was bluffing, but he had to try something. "Where's Greyback?"

"You think so, do you?" the woman said angrily. "We'll see if you're laughing when you meet 'im. Oh, he'll like you, Greyback will. Lots of meat on your bones, eh?"

Dudley's stomach turned over as the man grabbed a fistful of his hair and half-dragged him down the road towards the house. He was trying furiously to think of an escape plan, his head screaming in pain and protest, when they reached the front gate. The Aurors who had been stationed on either side of the gate to check every guest who entered the premises were now absent, having retreated under the marquee to patrol the reception, and the front yard was deserted. Yelling for help might cause more problems than it would solve, Dudley reflected, as it might bring guests into harm's way. Yet he had to do something.

"Where is 'e?" the stout woman asked, her piggy eyes squinting in the direction of the house.

"Getting the sword ready, stupid," her brother retorted.

"What, does it need sharpening, then?"

Dudley frowned. "Are you saying your leader didn't even tell you lot what his plan was?"

"Shut it!" the man shouted, giving Dudley's head a little shake that sent darts of pain straight to the center of his brain. And just when Dudley had had enough, just when he thought that he would attempt an attack despite his lack of magical abilities, his captor screamed and let go of his hair.

His sister swiveled around, looking for an attacker, but the yard still appeared deserted. Then Dudley saw it, impossibly faint in the sunlight: the same translucent shape that had appeared in the street before he was knocked out. Could it possibly be a real, honest to goodness ghost?

The stout little man had fallen to the ground, apparently knocked out, while his sister waved her wand wildly through the air like a whip. She shrieked and cursed and aimed spells at the ghost, but it swooped through the brightly lit yard and danced in and out of sight and avoided every beam of light she sent at it. Under cover of the excitement Dudley managed to stumble closer to the woman, unnoticed, and stuck out his foot. As she tripped the ghost descended upon her and knocked her out.

Dudley would have felt relieved, except that the ghost appeared as riled up as ever even now that the Carrows were subdued. He had a sallow face and eyes that darted to and fro, stopping occasionally to roll back into his head.

"T- thanks," Dudley said cautiously.

"You're him?" the ghost asked, approaching Dudley by several feet and then jumping back again many times.

"Who?" Dudley gaped, but taking in the ghost's distress he experienced yet another unexpected burst of clarity, and it came to him. "You're Michael Corner, aren't you?"

"You're him! You're him!" the ghost chanted again. "And you want to take her from me. See, she won't leave me, no. You wait. No, no, no."

Dudley felt a great surge of pity for the lost and confused ghost of Michael Corner in front of him. He thought that his now unconscious attackers must have gone to cruel lengths to convince Corner that such drastic measures were needed to get Parvati back. And what was more, he would not even get to be with her in the end.

"Listen, what Parvati does is her business," Dudley said hurriedly, edging away from Corner towards the gate. "All I want to do is to make sure my cousin is safe from the werewolf in that house. That's all."

"The wolf came in the night," Corner said, ignoring Dudley. "Hungry, always hungry. You wait and see, I said, she loves me. The wolf howled. No, no, no. She doesn't love me. Not unless I take her back. I have to _take her back_, see? I helped the wolf, watched my love day and night, hid in corners. You're him! She was with you, and the wolf understood. You're him, the sheep who stole my love, and you will be the one to draw out Potter. The Chosen one must be drawn out."

As Corner talked he hovered nearer and nearer to the gate, and Dudley kept a wary eye on him but stood his ground. Much of what he said went over Dudley's head, but he thought he understood the general idea, unpleasant as it was.

"So let me get this straight," Dudley said slowly. "This Greyback character found out about Parvati and me somehow... maybe he read about or mishap in Diagon Alley in the newspaper? Yes! These two dumpy gits were the ones who attacked us that day, I remember. And Greyback used you to spy on us by telling you you'd get Parvati back, because, what... he needed to use me as bait to get to Harry?"

"I fought alongside Potter, once," Corner said cryptically, his head giving a sad lilt. His eyes were growing brighter, now, and he seemed a little more aware of his surroundings with each passing second.

"But why go through all that trouble? Surely there are other people Harry would be more interested in saving. Greyback could have kidnapped anyone, at any time, if he wanted to lure Harry into a trap. Why now, and why me?"

"If you really want to know, Muggle, the plan was to wait until the Chosen One's wedding so as we'd have an audience."

The voice that chilled Dudley's blood in his veins came from behind the hedge that lined the front walk, and a tall, savage looking man emerged carrying a heavy, gleaming sword. There was no doubt in Dudley's mind that this was the werewolf, Greyback.

"Of course," Greyback went on, "I was partial to kidnapping the Mudblood Granger, at first. But the little bitch would have been bound to put up a fight. We decided on you, pathetic, wandless Muggle, because we knew you were the one guest what we could get away with taking in quiet. And we would've taken you earlier except Corner here had told us the Mudblood was keeping a ruddy close eye on you."

Dudley could feel his teeth chattering in sheer terror at this man's pointed teeth, his claw-like fingernails caked in what looked like a mix of dirt and blood. Yet, amazingly, he found the strength to push open the gate and stride up the walk so that he was standing right in front of the werewolf, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched. And when he raised his eyes a little and caught sight of the window to the upstairs study, he saw something that raised his spirits so completely that he almost gave himself away by smiling. Mastering himself, Dudley summoned up his most petulant five year old self and scoffed in Greyback's face.

"Think this is funny, do you, filth?" Greyback snarled.

"A little, yes," Dudley replied. He never would have had the nerve to say it, had Hermione Granger's face not just peered out the window at him with wide eyes. "I was vile to Harry Potter our whole lives. Never missed a chance to pummel him, and make his life miserable. Just this morning I tarred his wedding day by telling tales about him to Rita Skeeter. He won't come for me, and you've wasted your time."

Greyback's eyes narrowed. "We'll just have to see about that, won't we? We'll have to see if I can make you scream loud enough for Potter to come running. I'm betting I can."

Dudley's whole body tensed up in anticipation of what was coming, but it still hurt like hell when Greyback drew his wand and slashed at the air, creating a deep gash in Dudley's shoulder. Out of sheer spite Dudley clamped his mouth shut and made not a sound, which seemed to anger his aggressor greatly. The werewolf gave a feral growl low in his throat and pointed his wand at Dudley, and suddenly the world was on fire. Every inch of Dudley's skin was being lacerated, torn at by poisoned claws, and seared by hot pokers. He was not aware that he was on the ground, howling in agony, begging for it to end, please, anything but this pain that was too great for his mind to contain it, until all at once the pain was lifted and his breath was coming in great, shallow gasps that tore at his lungs and throat.

Please let it be over, he thought, please let me die before going through that again.

Using every ounce of strength he had left, Dudley rolled onto his side in time to witness a sight that, even in his weakened state, sent the blood flooding to his brain in a rush of awe and excitement. Grunting, he managed to prop himself up on his knees as Harry, Hermione, and their red-haired friend-Rob? Rolf? No, Ron, that was it, Ron-advanced on Greyback. Without consulting one another, as though they shared one collective mind, the three of them drew their wands in seamless unison. Though they did not speak their spells aloud, beams of light began shooting across the yard at once. Hermione's hit Dudley and sent a warm balm of comfort rushing from his head to his toes, heartening him so that he was able to get shakily to his feet. The man named Ron conjured ropes which wrapped themselves around the feebly stirring Carrows across the road. And Harry, his eyes filled with a calm disappointment far more frightening than cold fury would have been, disarmed Greyback in a movement so swift that it was barely visible.

"Been a long time, Greyback," Harry said casually, as though they were merely old acquaintances catching up. "The pleasure is all yours, I daresay. Thank Merlin Ginny's still at the Burrow getting ready, at least."

Ron nodded fervently, but Hermione's eyes were fixed upon the sword in Greyback's hand, as though she were trying to work something out.

"Always playing the hero, Potter," said Greyback. "Always Dumbledore's stooge. But you've fallen right into my trap, haven't you?"

"That," Harry replied, "is a matter of opinion."

"And we'll take that," Ron added, striding forward and snatching up the werewolf's wand from the ground. Turning back to Hermione he said, "You were right, this must be something to do with Winky going missing. How else would they have gotten in? Couldn't have Apparated normally."

"Yes, that's what I thought, but it doesn't really add up," Hermione replied. More guests were beginning to arrive and crowd into the backyard, gasping and whispering to one another, but she ignored them and turned to Dudley, speaking directly to him. "Why bother breaking into the house if they meant to lure Harry out here? Did the Carrows say anything?"

"Not sure. Something to do with the sword," Dudley told her, avoiding his cousin's gaze for fear of finding censure there. There was a great deal of muttering coming from the crowd, now. And something was stirring in Dudley's memory, something crucial that was dancing just beyond his reach.

Greyback began to laugh a mad, raucous laugh that made Dudley feel ill.

"What's funny?" Ron asked aggressively.

"I had to change my plan," Greyback chuckled. "Crouch was meant to secure the elf's assistance in breaking into the house and giving the ghost temporary corporeal ability to assault his victims. But the ghost let him go and took out Scabior, so I had to improvise-"

"That's enough," Harry interrupted. His voice was mild, but the entire crowd behind him fell silent as well as Greyback. Dudley looked up at them and saw, with mingled shock and delight, that Parvati had returned among their number. She was standing near the front, her eyes never leaving Dudley, but she did not smile at him nor meet his gaze.

Breaking the silence, Harry went on, "This business about Barty Crouch and a ghost... I want to know how you did it so we can be sure it won't happen again. Start at the beginning."

They had forgotten something, Dudley realized. The ghost. Where was Corner?

The moment he remembered, as if in answer to his thoughts, there was a disturbance in the air and Corner came speeding towards the ground like a bullet, screaming in a demented voice, "Are you him? You're him!"

The ghost collided with Harry, and in the fraction of a second it took the latter to react Greyback seized his chance. He leapt at Dudley and trapped him in a stranglehold, pressing the sword against his throat. Parvati gave a little gasp of dismay and Dudley felt the cold steel of the blade bite into his skin, a trickle of blood running down his neck.

"Get Potter! Get Potter!" Greyback was screaming at the ghost, and Corner looked around, clearly conflicted. "_Get him!_"

But another voice rose up, frightened but strong, and the ghost's eyes were drawn to it with a snap.

"Michael," said Parvati. She took a faltering step forward, extending her hand. "Michael, come back to yourself. This isn't you."

Corner gave a wail of despair.

"Leave these people be, Michael," Parvati insisted. "_Please._"

With a final longing look at his lost love, the ghost of Michael Corner jumped into the air and soared away almost too quickly to be seen. When he reached the house he collided with the chimney and sent a dozen bricks tumbling to the ground with a crash.

Bellowing like a wounded bull, Greyback pressed the sword further into Dudley's throat, sending another rivulet of blood streaming down his neck. There was a gasp from Hermione and Dudley looked up to see her exchange a meaningful glance with Harry, who, incredibly, sighed at Greyback and rolled his eyes. Dudley, who could not see how Harry would get him out of this for all his bravado, reached into his jacket pocket with his free hand and felt the small box purchased at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes many weeks ago to offer to Harry as a wedding gift.

"Anyone so much as thinks of cursing me, and we'll see how filthy his blood runs!" Greyback shouted, as Ron made a move towards Dudley.

"It's always the same with you people, isn't it?" Harry said, sounding almost exasperated. "Think you can cut corners, skip all the hard work Riddle put into becoming powerful by going straight for me. It's a little tiring, to be honest."

"Lazy gits," Ron added, smirking, and Greyback looked simply furious. Dudley worked at the box in his pocket with the tips of his fingers, slowly prying it open.

"You think we didn't know that the sword of Gryffindor contained the last known supply of basilisk venom in Great Britain?" Hermione chimed in, and her words from the morning at the coffee shop when he had shown her Rita Skeeter's letter echoed back to Dudley even through his fear.

_After the war ended two years ago... The Ministry of Magic spent a lot of time shutting down all the black market trade on basilisk venom. You can't get the stuff anywhere on Earth now._

"Found a way to extract the venom from the sword, did you? Thought you'd spike Harry's wedding toast with a little of it, maybe?" Ron finished, his tone making it clear how little he thought of Greyback's plan.

"No," said Greyback smugly, and for the first time Harry's look of cool assurance flickered. Greyback pulled a small glass vial of clear liquid from his pocket. "You, Potter, are going to drink this of your own accord, or the Muggle snuffs it."

He held out the vial of poison to Harry, who advanced towards it automatically. Ron and Hermione were telegraphing unbridled panic to one another through widened eyes, and Dudley knew that it was now or never.

In one swift motion he pulled Harry's wedding present from his pocket and threw it in Greyback's face. For a moment the werewolf was so startled that he stumbled back and slackened his grip on Dudley. As a result Dudley was able to break free and face Greyback, who was now covered in lemon meringue pie. There were mingled guffaws and cries of horror from the crowd. Harry was looking at Dudley as though he were a banana slug that had suddenly learned to talk.

"Bloody filth!" Greyback shouted, spitting out whipped cream, and Dudley waited, waited.

There was a moment of unreality in which Dudley knew what was happening and no one else had any idea. Then, mercifully, the promise on the box came true and a flock of tiny, spherical golden birds materialized out of thin air, circling Gryeback's head and pecking at him. To Dudley's immense satisfaction, the werewolf roared in pain and clawed at his face, bright red pustules appearing all over his face. The blond man at the pub had been right, then: Greyback _was_ allergic to snidgets.

Harry burst into laughter. It was this hearty, earnest sound that broke all the tension, and though Greyback was still growling and waving the sword frantically through the air, the crowd surged forward in excitement, ready to assist in any way they could.

Greyback was choking and spluttering, his face turning purple. He dropped the sword.

"Ron, would you go in the house and see if you can find Crouch?" said Harry. It was a request rather than a command, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice. "They'll be missing him on the closed ward at Saint Mungo's. And Hermione-"

"Winky, I know," said Hermione, and she and Ron departed without another word.

"I think we can call the Ministry in now," said Harry, throwing Greyback a look of disgust.

But Dudley was not finished. All the oddly dressed, powerful folks around him had magic wands and untold abilities. But he had been junior Heavyweight Champion. Dudley drew his fist back, and for the last time, gatherin all the worldly strength he possessed, punched with all his might.

Greyback fell to the ground, knocked out cold. And the crowd, incredibly, burst into applause.

Dudley could not help taking a deep, mocking bow, his lips stretching into a smile in spite of him. If his mother or father could see him now... Even as Dudley bowed Greyback's arm flopped limply to the ground, the vial slipping from his fingers and smashing against the ground. The venom splashed in every direction, and a single drop flew upwards, colliding with the cut on Dudley's neck.

"Argh!" Dudley hissed. The venom burned at him; he could feel it slithering into his bloodstream, tearing at his insides. Harry was no longer laughing.

"Dudley?" a voice called- the prettiest voice he had ever heard, by a mile. Somehow he was sitting slumped on the ground and Parvati was standing next to him, repeating, "Dudley? Dudley, talk to me!"

"Am I dying?" Dudley asked. His vision was dimming, little by little.

"Yes," Harry replied, crouching next to Parvati and examining him. "But don't worry, it won't be permanent if I can help it. Neville, Luna!" he called over his shoulder. "I need Phoenix tears, _now._"

But Dudley had eyes only for Parvati. His voice was failing him, but he wanted her to know how sorry he was. Please let her know, he thought. Let her know how sorry I am.

_I know_, Parvati mouthed at him, taking his hand, and Dudley closed his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Alas, my friends, the final chapter... I know it's a bit short but it did everything I needed it to as is, and besides there will be an epilogue. I want to thank you all for sticking with this story and leaving me lovely reviews. I've had a great time! If there's something you'd like to see, some minor character you'd like to drop in on the epilogue, or such, please let me know and I'll see if I can make it happen. That's what epilogues are for!**  
**

[Brace yourselves for shameless self promotion] If you'd like to read more of my stuff (which, if you do, wow, I'm honored, but maybe we should all be, like, spending time outside or something...) I do have a new story on the go which features an unlikely protagonist as well: a Dementor with a conscience. Yeah, siriusly. It's called The Mask. All my fics can be read together, because they all fit as part of my head-canon, so there's usually some connection between them. So if you're curious about who Harry mentions in this chapter as Hermione's "connection in the Department of Mysteries", you can read my completed fic Requirement.

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

Dudley was bedridden for a grand total of three days, though he felt he little needed it. Parvati, Hermione, and a little bat-eared, hysterically apologetic creature named Winky took it in turns bringing him infusions of something ominously called Phoenix tears while he lay convalescent in the spare bedroom of the Potter house. Once, to his confusion, Harry dropped in to offer him an enormous chocolate bar. Though Dudley had largely cut sweets from his diet in the last few years, he accepted the treat meekly, eager to accept any overtures of peace his cousin offered.

Parvati remained by his side each night long after the others had departed, telling him stories of her days at Hogwarts or speaking of her plans for their future in a soothing voice, or else simply singing to him. When even she took her leave, however, Dudley found his mind wandering to the scenes of panic after Greyback's fall. It had taken Harry and his guests nearly five minutes to locate the potent Phoenix tears that could heal him, with the result that Dudley had been unconscious and barely hanging onto his life by the time they were able to heal him. After twenty-four hours he had awoken fully recovered, but Hermione had insisted that he needed rest to recover all his faculties, and Dudley had come to realize that others in the wizarding world took Hermione Granger's word as gospel.

On the third morning of his stay at the Potter house Dudley awoke very suddenly and reached for the small glass orb Harry had placed on his bedside table, instructing him to give it a shake if he needed anything. Waving the orb vigorously through the air, he was amazed to see it turn a vivid, swirling violet before his eyes.

He would never grow accustomed to magic.

Harry burst into the room, followed closely by Parvati and a pretty, red haired woman with lively brown eyes.

"Are you all right?" Parvati asked at once, and Dudley felt, as he always did when she showed him sympathy, that he truly did not know what he had done to deserve her attention, let alone her forgiveness.

"Yeah, sorry," Dudley said hurriedly. "Didn't mean to worry you. I just... I'm sorry I didn't think of it before now, but I wanted to ask what happened with the wedding. Was it ruined?"

The red haired woman laughed. "Postpone our wedding for a little twerp like Greyback? Not likely."

"Dudley, this is my wife Ginny," Harry introduced them. "And no, the wedding wasn't ruined, thank you for asking. Believe me, Greyback was nothing compared to some of the things we've seen. He's back in Azkaban now, and he'll be force-fed Wolsfbane potion from now on to make sure he doesn't escape again. Incidentally," he added, addressing Parvati, "I spoke to Hermione about your concerns, and she thinks she has a connection in the Department of Mysteries who can help Michael Corner get better."

"Really? How?" Parvati asked eagerly, beaming.

"Well, no one knows, do they?" Harry replied with a laugh.

Though Dudley had no idea what they were on about, he joined in their laughter, his spirits lifted by the gratitude he felt at being accepted by these people whom he had wronged. Harry had waved away Dudley's apologies when the latter had regained consciousness two days ago, saying that Rita Skeeter could have wrested a lie from a Flobberworm, whatever that meant. Moreover, Harry added, he had seldom seen anything that gave him more amusement than Dudley throwing a lemon meringue pie at Greyback and punching him in the face. As for Parvati, no words were necessary. Dudley knew that the bad faith between them had been erased when Dudley had returned to save the wedding, and when Michael Corner had flown away.

Presently she stepped forward and kissed Dudley before turning to Harry's wife, who was watching the scene with amused disbelief.

"Listen, Ginny, can I have a word downstairs?" Parvati asked. "Barnabus Cuffe asked me to see if you'd be interested in becoming an occasional Quidditch correspondent for the _Prophet_, now that you've been transferred to the Harpies. I think he might be on the lookout for a well-known face to replace Rita, you know. Someone with a fresh take."

"Payback is sweet," Harry's wife smirked, leaving with Parvati.

Harry and Dudley looked at one another, bursting with a million things unsaid and yet unable to decide where to begin.

"Isn't Hermione here?" Dudley settled on at last.

Harry grinned. "Believe it or not, she doesn't live here, though she's been in and out often enough this week. She and Ron live in London, in fact. But she's at the Ministry at the moment. Always did work too hard."

"Oh." Dudley wrung his hands together uncomfortably. "I suppose I wanted to... er... thank her. For, well..."

"She's been feeling badly, you know," Harry told him, nodding. "For lying about healing you. She'll be glad to hear you don't hold it against her. But there's something else, isn't there?"

Dudley frowned. "Is reading minds something your lot can all do?"

"Not everyone." Harry shrugged. "But my Legilimency's improved since I joined the Auror Office. I'm not reading your mind now, though. It's written all over your face that something's worrying you. We grew up together, remember? I know all your faces- there are only about three of them, after all."

Dudley rolled his eyes but felt no resentment. He reckoned his cousin had earned the right to get in a few digs as payback for all the years of broken glasses and toys.

"All right, I'll tell you," he relented. "It's nothing, really, I was just wondering if you could show me to the post office here in town. I guess I'm well enough to leave this room now, and I need to write to my work to explain my absence. With my luck I've already been sacked, with Jenkins running around telling tales about me all over the office."

"This Jenkins, he's been giving you trouble?"

Dudley grimaced. "It doesn't matter."

"Well," Harry replied, his eyes flashing, "Ginny and I don't leave for our honeymoon until Friday, seeing as she has training to attend. So I've got the week off. What say we have a bit of fun?"

* * *

It was early, and the Grunnings offices in central London were quiet, with sullen, bleary-eyed employees just beginning to make their appearance in their respective cubicles. No one noticed the appearance of two young men in a shadowy hallway on the administrative floor, despite their odd manner of dress or the fact that they were lugging along with them an enormous, bulky trunk from which were issuing strange rattling noises.

"I still don't understand," Dudley grumbled, panting as he helped his cousin drag the heavy trunk, "why you can't just use your wand to make this thing fly along without help."

"I _told_ you," Harry replied, the cords in his neck standing out from the effort of pulling the trunk. "No magic in a building full of Muggles. Someone might see."

"But this thing-"

"This thing is a boggart, which means it'll be easy to subdue once we're done with it. Only your friend Jenkins will see it."

Dudley scowled. "He's no friend of mine."

"Well, we'll see how friendly he feels when we're through with him," Harry replied.

They had reached the end of the corridor and stood for a moment, catching their breaths, in front of Jenkins's cubicle which faced them directly. Harry looked all around him carefully to ascertain that they were alone on the administrative floor before throwing a richly embroidered cloak over himself and the trunk. And suddenly, Dudley was standing alone in the corridor, stunned.

"Harry?" he breathed, squinting at the spot where his cousin had stood a moment ago.

"I'm still here," came Harry's voice, causing Dudley to jump back in alarm. "You just can't see me."

"What the hell-?"

But Dudley broke off, because someone was approaching, and turning around he saw that it was the very person he wished to see.

"Morning, Jenkins!" Dudley called out, feigning politeness.

"Take him into your office," Harry instructed in a whisper. "I'll follow behind you."

Jenkins threw him a dark look, but Dudley was not deterred.

"Mind stepping into my office for a mo'?" he asked genially, gesturing towards his door which stood open across the corridor. "I'd like to have a quick word."

Jenkins accepted with poor grace and Dudley waved him into his office, straining to hear Harry drag the trunk in behind them. He heard the lock on the trunk click open, felt a rush of warm air, and suddenly an aged woman wearing a fluffy pink housecoat and carpet slippers had joined them in the room. Jenkins, who had been examining Dudley's desk chair, started when he turned around and took in her appearance, his eyes going wide as saucers.

"M- M- Mother?" he whimpered, slumping back against the chair in an almost comical show of horror.

The woman's housecoat flapped and her curlers bounced as she stalked up to Jenkins with surprising agility and screeched, "Well, what is it? Don't gape at me in that gormless way, you look feeble-minded! Why don't you make yourself useful and do some work?"

"What are you doing out of the house?" Jenkins asked, his face growing steadily paler, and Dudley could hardly contain the hysterical laughter bubbling up in his throat.

"I'll go wherever I please and not have my own children questioning me, thank you very much," the woman retorted sharply, waving a reproving finger at Jenkins, who cowered still lower against the chair.

"Go _home_, mother, this is where I _work-_"

"What's that, go home so I can sit in a house filled with your ridiculous porcelain unicorn figurines? How many times must I tell you to sell them, boy? You must have collected about five hundred at this late date..."

"Mother," Jenkins groaned, covering his face.

"It all started when he was a boy, only eight years old, you know," the elderly Mrs. Jenkins prattled on, now addressing Dudley. "He wet the bed at that age, and did so until he was quite grown up, if you'll believe it. Not a thing would comfort him but those blasted figurines, I tell you, and _then_-"

Jenkins gave a desperate wail and simply sprinted out of the office, his face now flushed a deep crimson, while Dudley roared with laughter at him. As soon as he was gone Harry emerged from underneath the cloak, at which point the old-woman-creature, whatever it was, rounded on him. For a brief moment it transformed into one of the horrific, putrefying apparitions Dudley had encountered at fifteen, and he recoiled, finding it difficult to breathe. Then Harry had cast a spell to make it trip over its overlong robe, and another to force it back into the trunk.

They looked at one another then, the wizard and the Muggle, and laughed unabashedly until their sides hurt and their eyes streamed with tears.

* * *

Jenkins resigned the next day after having delivered a brief letter to the Administrative Supervisor in charge of their floor retracting all previous allegations made against Dudley's conduct. Dudley could almost have felt sorry for the poor man had he not remembered the insufferable smug look Jenkins had worn every time he had done him a bad turn. Dudley was promoted once again soon thereafter, placing him in a position to afford his own flat for the first time in his life.

A pleasant and uneventful three months of courting preceded Parvati's moving into Dudley's flat. Some might have said that they were rushing into things, except that they were so obviously mad about one another than even the most avid gossip-mongers held their tongues. Though Dudley kept his job at Grunnings and remained ostensibly Muggle-like in all his endeavors, he often came home to find Parvati waving her wand over some delicious smelling pot on the stove, and the sight caused him no twinge of fear, no discomfort. When he met Parvati outside her office at the _Daily Prophet_ and met her robe-wearing, owl-toting colleagues, he made a particular effort at friendliness and did not even flinch if any of them vanished in mid-air.

He initiated a slow reconciliation with his parents some weeks later, to which his mother was rather more receptive than his father. At length, however, Dudley was invited back into their house for tea, and began to visit his mother regularly, though he was always careful not to mention his association with Harry or any of the others. He wondered how his family would take meeting Parvati someday, but he supposed that if he could punch a werewolf in the face his father could stand to have a pretty, unassuming witch in the house for five minutes.

The day Dudley asked Parvati to marry him was a day like any other. He met Parvati at five o'clock at their flat for dinner, feeling nervous and perfectly calm all at once.

"Here," Parvati said, pulling a small crystal bottle from the kitchen cabinet. "You have to drink this today, remember? Hermione said you should continue to take small doses of the infusion of Phoenix tears every five months for at least two years. You had a really close call."

Dudley gulped the mixture down, grimacing a little at the taste, and said, "What is a Phoenix, anyway?"

"They're great big birds that burst into flames when they've gotten too old and are reborn from the ashes. They're quite beautiful, and really rare. Professor Dumbledore had one. Imagine being able to start completely fresh, to just be born again..."

"I think I sort of was," Dudley told her pensively. "I mean, when I was fifteen, with the Dementors. My life before then is completely unconnected to my life now."

Parvati laughed. "You're quite poetic when you want to be, aren't you? There's this old wizarding proverb, how does it go? Oh, yes... 'Which came first, the Phoenix or the flame?' So which is it? Did the Dementors come along first and change you? Or were you always this Dudley on the inside and the Dementors just let him out?"

"You're too smart for me," Dudley chuckled, "and now my head hurts. Would you look in the sitting room and see if I left my water bottle there?"

Parvati shrugged and disappeared into the other room. Dudley waited, fidgeting with the creases in his jeans, and waited, and waited...

"Oh!"

Parvati's cry carried clearly through the wall, and Dudley bolted to his feet, scrambling into the sitting room at once. She was standing at the center of a circle of twittering golden birds, her eyes wide and glowing brightly.

"The pie was just sitting on the coffee table," she explained, and Dudley suppressed a smile. "Blueberry is my favourite... I thought you'd gotten it for me as a surprise. I took a bite and it- it just turned into these!"

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," Dudley told her, grinning. "Harry got it for me, actually. Look, that one seems to like you."

One of the tiny, fluttering birds was indeed zooming nearer and nearer to Parvati's face. She reached out and allowed it to land in her hand, where it deposited a delicate diamond ring.

"_Oh!_" Parvati repeated, her eyes bulging.

"_You_ let me out, not the Dementors," Dudley told her, "and I'll never be able to show you enough what you mean to me. But I'd like to try, and I'd like to start by marrying you, if you'll have me."

Parvati's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, of course! Yes!" She threw her arms around him. "I love you!"

Though he had grown up in the same house as a real live wizard, Dudley had never, until then, fully appreciated or believed in magic.


	13. Epilogue

**A/N:** Um, it dawned on me this week that I promised you guys an epilogue for this story and then I never delivered. So sorry to have kept you waiting for like five months. I have no excuse, I'm just the worst. If anyone is still reading, thanks a million for sticking around. I really appreciate all the feedback I got on this story! I faced major writer's block with this but I hope you'll be satisfied. If anyone wants to read more fics by me, I now have a WIP called "Of Ash and Flame" that features another... unusual pairing (one might argue even more unusual than this one. Because I'm a little unhinged and I like to take on ridiculous challenges). In any case, it's been grand, you guys. Cheers :)

* * *

**EPILOGUE  
**

Dudley stepped onto platform nine and three quarters for the first time in his life and kept his eyes resolutely shut.

"For heaven's sake!" came Parvati's amused voice at his side. "You can have a look at the place, it won't kill you."

He could hear the sound of hundreds of excited children running to and fro around him, the irritable squawks of what he had long since come to recognize were owls, and—good God, was that someone talking about flying carpets? He grudgingly lifted his eyelids by a fraction and took in the chaos of the bustling platform, blanketed in clouds of thick white steam issuing from a scarlet train awaiting its passengers.

A small hand tightened around his and Dudley looked down to see a pair of round, apprehensive eyes gazing up at him. All his discomfort was forgotten in an instant as he bent down to pat his daughter's head.

"It's nothing to worry about," he said firmly, while Parvati gave the girl a tight hug. "Remember, your uncle had the best times of his life here. You'll do so well, you'll see." _If I'd had the chance to go..._

"I'm not worried about that, Daddy." Her dark pigtails bounced around her as she shook her head, looking so much like her mother that Dudley had to smile. "I'm thinking how embarrassing it would be to get sorted into Hufflepuff."

"Stella," said Parvati sternly, though it looked like she was trying to hold back a laugh. "Hufflepuff is a lovely house. I've known many great witches and wizards who were in Hufflepuff."

Stella pursed her lips critically. "Sure. But James Potter would never let me live it down, would he? Just wait until I get out on the Quidditch pitch, I'll show him..."

"I thought we talked about this Quidditch thing!" said Dudley hastily, chivying them forward to make room for another family materializing behind them. _Through a solid brick wall_. There were some things Dudley had never quite gotten used to.

"Daddy!" Stella batted her eyelashes, grinning mischievously.

"I don't think so," Dudley insisted. The very thought of his daughter zooming through the air on a bloody broomstick, dodging bits of possessed metal like cannonballs, made him feel queasy.

"Guess you'll be watching from the sidelines then," said a sly voice behind them, and a family of five emerged from the shifting masses of steam, carrying heavy trunks. The one who had spoken, a red-haired boy of about fourteen, tugged at one of Stella's pigtails before laughing and racing away with his trunk. His father looked after him with a hopeless sort of amusement before turning back to smile at Dudley, Parvati, and Stella.

"Hey there Big D," said Harry.

Dudley rolled his eyes and Ginny Potter laughed.

"Oh, don't worry, just try calling him the Chosen One and he'll sober right up," she said.

Stella harrumphed to direct the general attention back to herself, still staring after James. "Oh, I can't wait to learn _all kinds _of jinxes to try on him."

"Don't you dare," Parvati said.

"Oh I don't know, it might do him a bit of good," replied eleven year old Lily Potter, whose trunk was almost as tall as she was and in imminent danger of crushing her flat. "C'mon, Stella, you can sit with me and Hugo."

The adults moved to help Lily, Albus, and Stella with their trunks, wending their way through the dense crowd to the doors of the train. Dudley had grown accustomed to seeing people in the wizarding world pause to stare at his cousin with awe, but he still found Harry's embarrassment every time it happened a little amusing.

"Oh good, Dad's calmed his nerves," said Stella, noticing Dudley's slight snicker. "I thought he might run away screaming, with Rose Weasley walking around with that family of pygmy puffs on her shoulder.

"Pygmy what?" asked Dudley, distracted, but Stella smirked.

"I was only joking, Daddy."

Dudley tried, and failed, to scowl. His daughter's vivaciousness never ceased to amaze him. He thanked his lucky stars every day for how much she had turned out like her mother. Still, he was hard put to keep up with her sometimes. When he had brought her to one of his father's dinner parties when she was four...

Vernon and Petunia Dursley had come over surprisingly tolerant of Dudley's choices after it had become clear that they would lose him entirely if they refused to accept his engagement to Parvati. This détente had lasted all of five months. Vernon had stormed out of Dudley's wedding reception after a man named Xylophone Lovegood—a guest of Parvati's and not Dudley's, decidedly—had interrogated him earnestly about his involvement in the Muggle drill industry's conspiracy to dig a tunnel to the center of the earth and uncover the Lord of the Crumpled Horned Snorkacks who slumbered there. Afterward Dudley had made many attempts at reconciliation, most of which had gone disastrously. Notably, the time Stella had accidentally caused the Dursley's dinner table to dance the conga during dessert. So Dudley had decided to let it rest. His mother wrote weekly; his father would come back to him some day.

Besides, he had enough in his life to fill him with wonder every day, and wasn't that enough? It still struck him as dreamlike, sometimes, the way such an array of terrifyingly unique people, _good _people, had seen fit to accept him into their world. He had wasted so many years hating magic... But he was here now.

"Be good," he instructed, hugging his daughter and patting the other children on the head. Parvati was getting watery-eyed at his side, and he himself felt a lump rise in his throat as Stella raced into her compartment to wave at them through the window. He waved back even long after the train had sped out of sight.

"Merlin," commented the familiar voice of Ron Weasley, as he and Hermione stepped out from a cloud of steam to join Harry and the rest in waving at the train. "It's a bit insulting how excited they are to leave us every year, innit?"

"We were the same," said Hermione. "Hi Dudley, Parvati."

Dudley nodded and Parvati said, "How was the House Elf Benefit dinner, Hermione?"

"Oh it was lovely! A real success. Do you know Kingsley Shacklebolt was there—" She broke off abruptly as Dudley let out a strangled cry and smacked himself on the forehead with his hand.

"What is it?" asked Parvati with alarm.

"We forgot to pack her those sandwiches to eat along the way!"

Parvati's eyebrows flew up and she gave him a look of such bemused affection that Dudley's heartbeat stuttered. How could he have been so lucky to deserve her, even after all this time?

"There will be a trolley on the train with sweets for the kids to eat," she assured him, giving him a reassuring kiss.

"Oh," muttered Dudley after a pause, his cheeks reddening at the snickers from the Potters and Ron. "Right. Being stupid."

"No," said Parvati softly, "I really don't think so." She gave Hermione an odd, furtive look and a nod, and something seemed to pass between them, because Hermione stepped forward.

"I agree," said Hermione. "You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for. For instance, I think if you try you'll be able to understand this: there are some rules that are rather fundamental to magic. Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration, for example, the first of which states that no magic can bring back the dead."

She had already begun to lose Dudley at 'Elemental Transfiguration' but he made a valiant effort to pay attention, because the others were now watching him with guarded expressions. He could sense that something was happening, though he did not know what it was.

"This law extends to dead cells within a living body," Hermione went on in that practiced lecturing tone as though she had absorbed an entire encyclopedia. "Which is why severe injuries can't be fixed magically once they've already healed over. Do you understand?"

Dudley crinkled his nose in concentration.

"Is that why Harry wears glasses?" he asked at last. "I always wondered."

Hermione grinned. "As a matter of fact, yes. But once in a while the magical world also faces certain advance, like the invention of the Wolfsbane potion, notably. And sometimes what we think we know about our most fundamental laws changes."

Dudley gaped at her and squeezed Parvati's hand tightly, her solid presence reassuring him. Was this going where he thought it was?

"So are you saying—? "

"No magic will ever be able to reawaken the dead," said Hermione hurriedly. "But in the case of certain types of tissue embedded within a living system, progress has been made. A connection of mine in the Department of Mysteries contacted me about a type of restorative potion that could, potentially, galvanize your cells into—"

"Hermione," Ron interrupted fondly, "speak English, will you?"

Hermione sighed. "I made you a promise once, Dudley, do you remember? That if you worked with me I would help you. How would you like to be able to take up boxing again?"

Dudley spluttered incoherently for a moment, his mind struggling to come to grips with what he was hearing. Finally he managed to choke out, "Took you long enough!"

The entire company burst into laughter, attracting many unabashed stares from the families now exiting the platform. The place crackled with magic, every inch of it, as evidenced by the way the light indicating it was safe to step up to the edge of the platform hovered, unsupported, five feet above the ground. But the midday sun bathed their surroundings in a warm, golden glow and Stella was on her way to the greatest adventure of her life and now, it seemed, Dudley might be on his way to embarking on an adventure of his own. The faces of his cousin and his friends and Parvati—her most of all—showed nothing but delight on his behalf. And that, he thought, was worth more than any potion or spell.


End file.
